


Let Me Count the Ways

by Loudalarumbells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudalarumbells/pseuds/Loudalarumbells
Summary: Dean wasn't just physically ill; he was sick from the inside, and he was wasting away to a shadow. Falling in love with your own brother isn't supposed to happen; there is no handbook for dealing with such an ugliness inside of yourself. Sam resented the distance growing between him and Dean, especially with a sense of overwhelming need he was feeling ill-equipped to handle alone.





	1. It's Hopeless

Chapter One: It's Hopeless

It had been a long time since Dean had slept such a deep, hard, and dream free sleep. Waking up from the black grip of unconsciousness felt like trying to break himself free from the sucking mire of a peat bog. His mind refused to cooperate, to let him shake off the last dregs of heavy sleep that clouded his senses.

"Dean. Dude. You alright?" That voice. Dean groaned.

'Shit, Sammy, how much did I drink last night?" Dean replied to his brother, finally piecing together where he was, and more importantly, who he was with. Propping himself up on one elbow, Dean glared blearily around the tight quarters of their hole-in-the-wall motel room. His brother was sitting on the edge of his own bed, fully dressed, both of his huge hands wrapped around a disposable cardboard coffee cup, a half-cocked smirk creeping up the side of his mouth, eyes slightly quizzical.

"I don't know Dean, you tell me. I kind of lost track of you after you left with that horny bartender. What was her name? Bambi?" Dean groaned again, collapsing from his partially upright position back onto the bed. Rubbing his face with both hands, Dean cleared his throat roughly.

"Darci, man. Bambi, Sam, really? You think I'm into fucking deer?" Dean replied, voice muffled by his hands. Truth was, Dean was into just about anything these days, to an extent that was starting to worry both brothers. Dean had always had an overactive libido, but never to the point of pulling them from an active case.

"Dean, seriously, I don't care what her name was or how much you drank. What is going on with you, dude? We were hot on the trail of that vamp. Now he's had a head start, who knows if we'll be able to find him again." Sam furrowed his brow, staring down at his cold coffee. Running his thumb over the mouthpiece of the cup, he lowered his voice and finished, "Not only that, but you're starting to really freak me out, man. I haven't seen you eat a decent meal in like a month, you're drinking through every bar we see, and I'm pretty sure at the rate you're hooking up you're gonna wind up with some nasty form of super AIDS."

Sam hadn't heard a sound as Dean climbed out of the bed, so he was surprised to feel his brother lift his chin with a crooked index finger, giving him a roughish Winchester grin coupled with a mimed kiss.

"Buck up buttercup, one of these days you'll make it through puberty and learn how to put down the kombucha and pick up the bourbon, not to mention the babes." With that, Dean tripped past Sam, tousling his hair, and entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sam shook his head bitterly, sucking down the rest of his unsweetened brew, and crumpled the cup in frustration, throwing it into the closed bathroom door. Of course, Dean wouldn't take his concerns seriously. Every time Sam tried mentioning to Dean that something was off, that Sam was worried, his concerns were just turned into a joke. But Sam wasn't being paranoid, something was going on with his brother. Living in such close proximity to someone, day in, day out, every day of your life- you begin to know that person like the back of your hand; better than you know yourself. Sam's brother is- was- a glutton. Eating everything in sight, as long as it wasn't a fruit, or heaven forbid, a green vegetable. Sam could swear he could count the amount of times he's seen Dean in his down time not stuffing his face on one hand- until recently. Dean had a fast metabolism and a beyond healthy level of physical exercise, which were probably his only saving graces from morbid obesity. As it was Dean was relatively stocky- not chubby of course- he didn't have an ounce of body fat on him. But the massive amounts of calories he consumed coupled with the active hunter lifestyle and constant training had turned Dean into a powerfully muscled young man. Not that Sam would know. It's not like he ever found his eyes drifting to his brother's muscle-corded torso when he came out of the shower sleek and gleaming, or had to force himself to look away when Dean would shamelessly toss the towel aside to pull his boxers up his chiseled thighs…

Sam could feel his neck burning, the tips of his ears turning red. What the hell was wrong with him? The whole point of this train of though was working through the changes in his brother, and the concern Sam was feeling. And instead, here he is, picturing his older brother, BROTHER, naked after a shower. Sam pounded a fist into his thigh and winced. Apparently Dean wasn't the only one having issues lately. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Sam closed his eyes and leaned back onto his mattress. No, it wasn't just the fact that Dean wasn't eating the way he used to. Stress can attribute to a lack of appetite, and Lord knows they have their full share of stress. But the way Dean was behaving, you'd think he had a death wish. Drinking to the point of oblivion every night, the random outbursts of temper, the long stretches of bleak withdrawn silence, the almost desperate need to fuck any woman who succumbed to his chiseled features, and forest green eyes, and that spattering of chestnut freckles that lightly dusted his nose….

"Hey Sammy, whatcha daydreaming about? A kale salad and a nice pool boy named Enrique?" Dean leaned in the open bathroom door, arms crossed, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, a towel wrapped around his waist. Yes, Dean had been losing weight, and with nothing but a towel covering him, the loss was apparent. Freckles. Sam tried not to notice that his brother didn't only have freckles on his face. He had them all over his body, as far as Sam could see, and maybe even…

"Yeah Dean, that's exactly what I'm thinking about, not anything to do with how freaking weird you are, you jerk." Sam growled out, relieved when Dean disappeared back into the bathroom to spit out his mouthful of toothpaste. "Since when do you bother with oral hygiene? I don't think I've seen you brush your teeth since you were twelve."

"Since I can still taste Darci in my mouth. By the way, you might want to buy a new toothbrush, I wouldn't recommend using this one again." Dean's voice came from the bathroom, sounding as light and cheerful as always, a tone Sam hadn't heard much lately.

"Sick dude! You used my toothbrush? Why didn't you use your own?" Sam called back to him, scrunching his eyes closed and wondering what exactly on Darci Dean was still tasting.

"I don't have a toothbrush, I always use yours, dumbass. Have you ever seen me buy a toothbrush?" Dean responded, chucking. Oh yeah, he was definitely in a good mood, for whatever reason. When Dean didn't hear a disgusted or offended reply, he stuck his head through the doorway to look at Sam. Sam stared back, surprisingly silent. His face was blank, and he immediately dropped his eyes and refused to make eye contact with his brother. Getting up swiftly, Sam turned and stalked to the front door of the hotel room, long legs eating up the distance quickly.

"Whatever Dean, I'm going to the store. Try not to get drunk or fuck anybody while I'm gone." With that the front door slammed, and Dean was along in the room, left with only his thoughts.

And boy, did Dean have thoughts. As soon as the door swung shut, the nonchalant smile on Dean's face faded. He slumped against the wall of the bedroom and slid down to sit on the floor, resting his arms on his knees and burying his head in his arms. He didn't have the energy to do this anymore. Pretending everything was fine was eating him up alive. Pretending nothing was wrong felt like pushing his hands into a live fire and being expected to smile and act like his flesh wasn't curling away from the bones of his fingers while his skin sizzled and popped. Goosebumps pebbled Dean's skin as the analogy sprang into his mind. Truth be told, he felt like someone had thrown his heart into a fire. He felt actual physical pain in his chest all the time recently, and a tightness in his stomach that no amount of distractions could unwind. Dean had managed to hide from Sam the reason why he wasn't eating anymore. Every time he tried, his stomach immediately rejected the food, and he found himself crouched over the porcelain god, violently expelling anything he managed to choke down. The only thing he could keep in anymore was his steady diet of various forms of alcohol. His stomach felt so sick and tight all the time lately that Dean found the only way he could sleep was when he was so inebriated that he blacked out into unconsciousness. When the sedating effects of the alcohol he had imbibed inevitably wore off and he sank into real sleep, his disturbing dreams always wrenched him immediately awake. Dreams of sun browned skin slick with sweat passing under Dean's hands, silky chestnut hair grasped in his fingers. A hot mouth sucking against Dean's body, greedy and ardent. Brown eyes gazing into Dean's, full of hunger and need, pupils dilating with desire. Dean's brow furrowed. This isn't right. Why is he flashing back to these dreams while he's awake? Is he so screwed up now that even his conscious thoughts are reaching out for the one worst thing that Dean could ever want? And with that Dean felt his stomach wrenching, his throat burning. He was having a physical response to the disgust he felt in himself.

Sam walked back through the door with his sack of groceries, feeling less off kilter than when he had stormed out of the motel room. He could do this, Sam though, he can act like the though of something as innocent as his brother sharing his toothbrush hadn't caused a searing warmth to seep into his loins. He can stuff these thoughts down deep and….

"Dean! Shit, man, this isn't just a hangover is it?" Sam expelled worriedly, tossing his groceries down on the table and loping across the room to bend over Dean and place a warm hand between his shoulders. Dean was on his hands and knees, halfway in the bathroom, coughing and retching over a puddle of vomit that was clearly just bile and whatever liquids Dean had in his system. Dean struggled to throw Sam's hand from his shoulders, but found he was too embarrassingly weak to do much more than shift his weight on his hands. He hunched over again, like a cat hacking up a fur ball, swallowing back stomach acid and roughly barked out,

"Don't touch me Sam, get the hell away from me." Sam's brow furrowed. Instead of removing his hand, he wrapped his arm around his brother's torso and lifted him up, pulling one of his arms over his shoulders.

"Stop trying to be so macho, Dean. You're clearly not well and we gotta get you better. " Dean slumped into Sam slightly, and allowed himself to be half dragged/half carried to the closest bed, which happened to be Sam's. Sam plopped Dean down in the bed and lifted his legs to swing them up into the bed. "Are you okay? Should I bring you a wastebasket?" Sam asked, sitting down next to Dean and feeling his forehead for a temperature. Dean turned his head away from the reassuring touch and buried it into Sam's pillow, breathing through his mouth and immediately relaxing as he inhaled the scent, the taste of Sam's sandalwood and cedar aftershave and unique Sam-ness left on the pillowcase.

"I'm alright Sam. I promise. It's just the hangover." Dean muttered, curling in on his side into the fetal position, shivering slightly in nothing but the thin motel towel tied around his hips. Sam didn't say anything more, just pulled the blanket up over his brother's shoulders. "Just gotta sleep it off Sammy, okay?" Dean said, eyes tightly shut, feeling a cloud of exhaustion seep into him, erasing his ability to stay awake.

"Yeah Dean. You do that. We're gonna get you better. You'll be fine in no time." Sam whispered, brushing the back of his fingers along the side of Dean's jaw. Sam was sure Dean was already asleep and felt guilty for the touch, but he couldn't see his brother like this and not express some physical bit of tenderness. Hefting his bulk from the bed to walk over to where he had set the groceries down, Sam could have sworn he heard a broken voice reply, "It's hopeless, Sam." But of course, that was just in his head, Dean was already snoring.


	2. Brotherly Bonding

Chapter Two: Brotherly Bonding

Dean woke to a mouthwatering aroma of apples and cinnamon. His stomach was tight and churning as usual, but after expelling all contents so recently, he also felt a surprising hunger pain at the smell. Stretching his arms above his head, Dean realized he had actually slept, not passed out. Recalling events earlier in the morning, Dean scowled and sat up. How was it something as pathetic as being half carried to bed and having his face just barely touched by his brother was enough to allow him real sleep and reignite his appetite? Dean sat up and looked around the room for Sam.

"You're awake, good. I have something you gotta try. I picked it up while I was out replacing my toothbrush." Sam said brightly, turning around from his position at the table in their room, cheek dimpling in a smile. "Open your mouth." Dean's jaw dropped open slackly, wondering if he was still dreaming.

"Wha…" But his question about what Sam was planning to put in his mouth was cut off but a forkful of apple pie crammed between his lips. Dean choked slightly, then closed his mouth and groaned, rolling his eyes back in his skull, eyelids blissfully closed. "Wow, Sammy, I can't remember pie tasting this good." Sam smiled faintly, sitting in a chair he had pulled up in front of Dean, determined to get his brother to eat as much as he could. Sam didn't know much about what was going on with Dean recently, but he did know he needed to eat, and pie was the best bet.

"Open." Sam demanded again, holding another forkful of apple pie to his brother's mouth. Dean opened his eyes, his impossibly green eyes, and looked impassively at Sam, swallowing his current bite and opening his mouth again.

"Don't gotta tell me twice, bossy." Dean growled, taking the fork into his mouth, and sliding his teeth down the tines of the fork in an almost sexual manner. Sam's breath hitched in his throat, and he smiled. This was good. Dean was allowing himself to be fed, getting some sustenance into his body for the first time in too long for Sam to remember. Dean flushed a little at Sam's smile. "You don't have to feed me Sam, I'm fully capable of eating on my own."

"Sure Dean, and that's why you're barfing and passing out and looking emaciated. All that 'feeding yourself' you've been doing. Shut up and let me just… take care of you, okay? Just shut up for once." Sam leaned forward, pressing another bite of pie to Dean's mouth. Dean's flush hadn't faded away, in fact, it was spreading. He was breathing a little heavier than normal, and his eyes were liquid pools of emerald fire. He sucked the fork into his mouth and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, his knee bumping into Sam's, reminding bot,h men that Dean was still wearing just a towel. Sam pulled the fork back, feeling slight resistance from Dean's pursed lips. Sam watched as Dean chewed slowly, savoring his first bit of food that didn't make him sick in what felt like years. Sam pulled his knee away from Dean's, and handed the pie dish and the fork to his brother. "On the other hand I really don't think I've ever seen you not finish pie. I'm gonna get you some clothes, you eat." Sam said gruffly, standing up out of his chair and bending down to rummage through Dean's suitcase. Dean cocked his head and watched Sam, humming tunelessly while stuffing his face with pie, admiring the strong curve of his brother's bent back, trailing down to the band of boxer briefs visible over his jeans, and… Dean coughed, choking on his pie, and looked back down at his plate, suddenly feeling as though he was attempting to swallow ashes. Sam straighten back up, unaware of what had just transpired, and handed Dean a pair of his flannel pajama pants, and a plain white undershirt. Dean frowned. "Sam it's only what, like, 12 pm? I need some real clothes, dude." Sam shook his head decisively, sinking into the bed with Dean, switching on the small television on with a remote, and placing his hands behind his head on the pillows.

"Nope. We're hanging tight here until I'm sure you're not going to be charfing on a wendigo when we're supposed to be ganking him or something. Get comfy, man." Sam replied, grinning cheekily at Dean. "Just see it like a sick day. Normal people get sick days with their jobs, why can't we have one?" Dean grumbled incoherently but didn't disagree, enjoying the thought of some brotherly bonding time. When the last time they had just sat together, not working a case, and relaxed to some television? He would never admit it, not under the threat of torture, but some of his happiest times as a kid was John leaving the boys in some shitty hotel or motel to go on a hunt, eating junk and watching tv together all day, for days on end with nothing to entertain them but reruns and each other's' company. Back when it was Dean taking care of Sammy, not Sam taking care of Dean. Leaning back into his side of the bed, absentmindedly continuing to eat the pie bite by giant bite, not realizing that for the first time in weeks the tight knot in his stomach was slowly uncoiling. Staring intently at the tv, Dean almost didn't notice that he had inadvertently pressed his left arm against Sam's right arm, and that the heat of contact was what soothed the tightness away from deep inside him.

He's so fucking beautiful. Sam thought wistfully, observing Dean silently. Dean was intently watching whatever show was on the screen, Sam didn't know, he was watching a different show- Dean's eyes crinkling at the corner as he laughed along to a laugh track, sooty black eyelashes framing those electric eyes of his. Sam's breath caught in his throat as Dean looked over at him to grin, looking better than he had in ages, pie mostly gone except for a few scraps of crust. Dean wiped his thumb inside the pie tin picking up a few stray crumbs and smears of apple filling, and popped the digit in his mouth, sucking on it noisily.

"Damn, Sam, that was some good stuff. Look at you, being all grown up and looking after your big brother." Dean teased, wiping his saliva dampened thumb across Sam's cheek.

"Dude! Not cool!" Sam exclaimed in a sufficiently shocked tone of voice, but instead of wiping his cheek off immediately, he just looked away from his brother and back to the tv screen, saliva glistening on the glowing blush of his cheek. Dean stared at the wet spot on his brother's cheek, and his head filled with visions of him climbing over on top of Sam, pressing his tongue to his cheek, and tasting the sweet saltiness of his skin where his thumb had left a wet trail. Sam would turn his face to Dean's, catching his lips with his mouth, and draw Dean into a kiss so deep Dean's heart would stop beating altogether... Blinking, Dean broke himself out of the glorious daydream, standing up so abruptly from the bed the pie tin and fork clattered to the ground, and Sam looked up questioningly. "You alright?" Dean didn't answer him, a look of complete and utter helplessness covering his features as he backed away from the bed. "Dean what the hell?" Sam asked, sitting up further in the bed growing concern painting his face.

"I… I… I …" Dean faltered, his back finally pressing up against the door, his hand seeking the handle. Sam frowned and jumped out of the bed, walking over to his brother at the door, covering his hand as it found the handle.

"Dean what the hell is going on with you?" Sam asked, a look of frustration on his face. One step forward and two steps back was getting old. Whatever was going on with Dean, it was time he spilled.

"I just gotta go Sam. Let me go." Dean practically pleaded, his hand twisting ineffectively at the door handle. But Sam's grip was like iron, and he wasn't letting Dean run away from this one.

"No. You're gonna sit your ass back down and you're gonna tell me what's turned you into such a mess, Dean. I'm not asking." Sam grabbed Dean's wrist and placed his other hand behind his shoulder, half pulling, half pushing his brother away from the door. Dean resisted, breaking his wrist way from Sam's grip, and shrugging his hand away from his shoulder.

"Fuck off Sam. Just leave leave me the fuck alone." Dean snarled out, full on, radiating hostility. Sam had had about enough of this. Weeks of watching his brother caught in his own head, worrying himself half to death, depressed and angry in bouts, practically trying to starve himself to death, screwing anything that moved… there was only so much of this he could take, and he was way past his bullshit limit. Instead of trying to drag his big brother further into the room, Sam shoved Dean, hard, causing Dean's back to thud into the door. Sam slammed his left fist right beside Dean's head with a hollow thump, his face coming in close to Dean's, irritation snapping from his eyes, smothering down the concern Dean had been seeing all day. In his right hand Sam grabbed a fistful of his brother's shirt, pulling their faces so close Dean could feel his breath on his lips.

"Enough of you being a little bitch, Dean. I've had it. I'm not doing it anymore. I am going to get this out of you one way or another, so you better sit down, shut up, and start talking." Normally Dean would have inquired how he was supposed to shut up and start talking at the same time just to further push Sam's buttons, but this wasn't normally. Dean's chest heaved and he felt his stomach tighten back up. Sam was full on blazing, so concerned about and upset with Dean there would be no reasoning with him. What was Dean supposed to say?

Well Sam, it's like this. Lately, all I can think about is putting my hands on your body in a very unbiblical way, of kissing your mouth like no family member ever should, of bringing you so close to the edge that one graze of my hand reaching down the front of your jeans would have you keening and begging for me to have my way with you? That even while all of this is running through my head, I hate myself, I know how sick I am, that the baby brother who I held in my arms every night for years, soothed after nightmares, dressed and fed and loved and protected… is now the object of my desire? That the more I can't keep these thoughts from my head the more I think you'd be better off if I just put a bullet in my brain before I do something irreversible, unspeakable, unforgivable to you? Because I could never live with hurting you Sammy, I could never live with looking into your eyes and seeing betrayal, disgust, fear, or pain. I'd rather die a million deaths and spend every moment of eternity back in hell than ever have you feel anything for me other than love and trust.

As these thoughts tumbled through Dean's mind but no words left his lips, Sam dropped his clenched fist from its perch on the door, and rested his hand against Dean's neck. Some of the unspoken, violent anger faded from his eyes and he read the look of fear on Dean's face. Something was seriously frightening his brother, and Sam felt his heart clench with empathy. He couldn't stand Dean in pain, not for a moment.

"Dean…" Sam sighed, lowering his forehead gently against his big brother's, the way Dean used to do to comfort Sam, back when their height distribution was different, before age and masculinity had them punching and elbowing each other instead of being comfortable with physical touch. "I love you, man. Let me help you. I can see something is eating you up inside, and I'm scared, Dean. I can tell you're scared too. Please, let's figure this out, let me help you, D." His voice got softer as he spoke, so soft that Dean almost didn't hear Sam use his old nickname for him from childhood.

"Sammy.." Dean choked out, his voice breaking. There were tears, real and actual tears, glistening in those shockingly green orbs Dean had for eyes. "I can't. I'm broken, man. There's nothing we can talk about that will fix what's going on inside of me. I've got something dark growing in me Sam, and it's only a matter of time until I can't control it anymore. It's eating me alive, baby brother, it's consuming me and turning me into this hateful thing, this beast that I don't even know anymore…" Dean trailed off, a tear spilling from one of his brimming eyes, snaking a trail through his spattering of freckles, until it came to rest in the corner of his perfect bow-shaped lips. Sam lifted his forehead from Dean's, love and fear battling behind his eyes. A lock of dark brown hair fell in front of his face, obscuring the look behind silken lock and shadow. He had no clue how to fix this, how to help. He had never in all his life of hero worshipping his brother seen him like this. He was astounded that Dean, the strongest person he'd ever known, could ever feel this way. It was shifting the very foundations of Sam's world. It felt like the floor was dissolving from beneath Sam's feet, like everything that he knew was flipping upside down.

Choking back a sob, Dean dropped his head onto Sam's shoulder, screaming for forgiveness inside the caverns and recesses of his soul, yet desperately needing the contact. He felt his brother's chin nestled into his hair, felt strong iron arms wrap gently around him.

"It's alright, Dean. We're gonna figure this out. We always figure things out. Shit Dean, you went to hell and back, literally, and you're still here, saving people, hunting things. Shhh, Dean, really, you're gonna make it, we're going to be okay." Sam instinctively pressed his lips to Dean's forehead, mentally willing all his love and reassurance to soak into his big brother. Dean grunted against Sam's chest, burrowing deeper into the embrace, not speaking, but not trying to break away. Sam took this as a sign that Dean needed the contact right now, that he needed to feel supported and loved. Sam removed his lips from his brother's forehead and slid his face down further to kiss his cheek. If this is what Dean needed right now, physical affection and reassurance, that was sure as hell what Sam would give him. Of course that was his motivation. This was all just for Dean, to help his brother with whatever he was struggling through. It had nothing to do with the heat flooding into him from all the hard planes and soft curves of Dean's body pressed against him, nothing to do with the smell of Dean's musk drifting into Sam's nostrils or the way Dean's breath against Sam's ear made it impossible for Sam to see straight. The feeling of Dean's velvety soft cheek pressed to his lips was indescribable. Sam had a flash back to all those times when Dean, after Sam had skinned a knee riding his bike or cut himself whittling wooden figures, would hug Sam and kiss his cheek, and tell him to hush, big brother was here now. Sam's lips moved gently on that silken skin, tasting the salt and wet of the tear that had leaked down Dean's face. STOP. A voice inside of Sam tried to alert him, tried to break him away from whatever trance was causing him to act irrevocably unbrotherly. But Sam's lips found the corner of Dean's lips, the tear lingering there mingled between both mouths. Sam parted his lips ever so slightly, and pressed his lips against Dean's soft bottom lip in a tender, butterfly soft kiss that lasted less than a second. Pulling away, Sam said softly, voice thick with compassion, "I'm here Dean, I've got you."

FuckFuckFuckFuck Raced through Dean's brain as he felt his brother kissing first his forehead, and then his cheek. What is he doing? STOP SAM, YOU'VE GOT TO STOP- pure liquid fire was rushing through Dean's veins, blood coursing and pounding through his body setting every sense and nerve on high alert. The liquid fire was pooling inside Dean's groin, causing him to swell and harden instantly, painfully, engorging fully in a matter of the seconds it took as Sam pressed soft little kisses onto his face. And then Sam's lips weren't on his cheek anymore. Dean almost whimpered in relief. Until he felt the softest, lightest kiss press against his lips, and tasted his own tear on them. Sam had kissed him before. Sam had been an affectionate child, and required bedtime kisses on a nightly basis until he had reached puberty. His kisses had always been warm and firm and trusting, a little brother giving affection how he could to his best friend and confidant. But Sam hadn't kissed him in years, and this wasn't the kind of kiss Sam had ever given. The feeling of Sam's lips lightly brushing against his own was hesitant and practically fearful, but ardent at the same time, warm and searing. Dean's head absolutely exploded. Was he hysterically crying? Was he sinking through the floor getting sucked directly back into hell? He was sure he must be.


	3. Baby, It's Cold Outside

Chapter Three: Baby it's Cold Outside

Dean's head rocked back from the kiss, a grunt pulled from him as if Sam had punched him in the gut. It felt like he had. Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see or hear- there was a rushing, a ringing in his ears. He tried to stumble back but was still wound up in Sam's embrace. He had to get away before Sam realized what his innocent comforting was doing to his "big brother". Dean was sick, disgusting, and needed to escape. His loose-fitting pajama pants did nothing to hide or restrain his erection, and if Sam saw or felt it, Dean would literally blow his brains out all over the walls of the motel room rather than see revulsion and hate on his brother's face. Snapping his body violently out of Sam's gangly arms, Dean wrenched the door open, stumbled out into the cool outside air, grabbed his leather jacket from beside the door as he ran, escaping from the motel room as quickly as he could, gaining speed as he ran, sobs ripping from his chest, lungs on fire. He thought he heard a shout, thought he heard his name called out, but he couldn't be sure, he was already too far away, bare feet slapping against the cold asphalt, ignoring the pebbles and grit stinging his flesh with each impact. There was no need for him to die to go to hell, he was already there.

"DEAN!" Sam cried out, watching Dean literally fly from the room. Frozen in shock, not understanding what had taken place, Sam reached out his hand as if to pull Dean back into his arms. He shuddered, allowing his arm to fall, and began cursing out-loud. Of course Dean had run. What the actual fuck was wrong with Sam? Had he really kissing his brother, taken advantage of his weakness, and kissed him? His own eyes filling with tears, Sam shut the motel room door. Dean had every right to run. Dean was weak, scared, going through an obvious trauma- and Sam, instead of helping his brother like he had promised, acted like some type of creepy predator, feeding on his brokenness. Sam, shaking, shrugged into his jacket and stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. Sam rarely drank and never on the scale that Dean drank, but he felt a sudden need to get insanely, black-out plastered and to forget the last minute of his life had ever taken place. Pulling the spare key to Baby from his jacket pocket, Sam left the motel room and locked the door, determined not to return until he couldn't remember his own name.

It was freezing out. Dean shuddered and flipped the well-worn collar of his jacket up to protect his neck from the wind. Dean had run for hours, away from the motel and to the beach about three miles away, feeling his internal pain beaten out of him from the ocean spray stinging his face, the wind whipping around his clothing, and the rapid breaths of exertion burning through his chest. He ran up and down the beach, physically willing himself to not drop when his muscles started to scream in protest, and his extremities went numb from the cold. Finally, Dean couldn't keep it up any longer. He tripped on a loose stone that he hardly felt and sprawled into the sand, face pressed into the coarse, frozen ground. Dean lay there for several minutes allowing his heart beat to slow, and then pulled himself back to his feet. It was time to walk back to the hotel room and face whatever music was waiting for him. Sam could not have known what sort of twisted thoughts and feelings had surged through his brother's mind and body at an innocent kiss or reassurance. Sure, it was weird odd that Sam had kissed him in the first place, but Dean was the pervert twisting innocence to suit his dark desires, not Sam.

As Dean neared the motel, he felt his feet begin to drag. He was not looking forward to making up some lie to feed Sam about why he had fled. And Sam would have questions- he always had questions. Dean was pretty sure Sam was just one giant question, that his life goal was to know everything about everything. While Dean was bursting with pride at the level of intelligence his brother possessed, it was uniquely annoying when Sam turned that brain on to trying to figure Dean out. And there were some secrets buried inside of Dean too dark for Sam to ever learn of.

"What the-" Dean began, puzzlement clouding his features. Why was Baby parked halfway on the sidewalk leading up to their motel room? And why were Sam's boots hanging out of the driver's side window? And why were empty beer bottles scattered all over the ground outside of the car?

"The neighbors might think, baby it's bad out there

Say what's in this drink? No cabs to be had out there

I wish I knew how, your eyes are starlight now

To break this spell, I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell

I aught to say no, no, no sir- mind if I move in closer?

At least I'm gonna say that I tried, what's the sense of hurting my pride

I really can't stay, baby don't hold out

BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIIIIIIIIIDE"

Came Sam's clearly alcohol fortified voice, singing a Christmas song to himself inside of Dean's car, even though it was February and Christmas had long since passed. Dean shook his head, laughing despite everything he'd been through this evening. Sam never got wasted like this, and he never, ever sang. On the rare occasions Sam did get drunk, and start singing, he never remembered it the next day, and assumed all of Dean's teasing and mocking was pulling his leg about his behavior the night before.

"Hooookay, Sammy, let's get you inside." Dean said gruffly, shaking his head, as he popped open the driver side door. Sam protested with a whining moan as his feet slid out of the open windows and plopped heavily onto the ground when the door opened all the way.

"Deannnn you're ruining the music." He protested, sitting up in the seat, face scrunched up.

"Yeah okay Sinatra, come on, let's get you inside and warmed up." Sam stood up and wobbled dangerously and slid into the side of the Impala.

"I don't think… I mean Dean, the ground isn't okay with this and it's moving…" Sam slurred. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, thanking whatever deity above had decided to let Sam get drunk and keep them from the conversation and questions Dean had dreaded so deeply.

"Alright ya Nancy, let's go…" Dean grunted, hefting Sam's arm over his shoulder and slowly walking him toward the door. Propping Sam up with his leg and hip, he opened the door and flipped on the light.

"DEAN! But the beer is in the Baby!" Sam complained as Dean walked him inside, kicking off one boot after the other.

"You're damn right the beer is in a baby, you drunk toddler." Dean chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. Turning Sam around to face him, Dean walked him backward until the back of Sam's knees hit his mattress, and Sam sunk heavily down into the bed.

"You were gone forever and let me get soooooo drunk." Sam stated, pointing a finger at Dean, and squinting at him accusingly.

"Pretty sure you did that to yourself Sammy, no one told you to go drink the entire liquor store." Dean shot back, shivering as he felt the warmth of the hotel room seeping back into his frigid limbs.

"Yeah, well, you're still a jerk. Wouldn'ta had to if you stayed and talked to me for once." Sam mumbled, plucking at his coat, attempting to remove it. Dean, shaking his head, gripped Sam's zipper in cherry red fingers, unzipping the jacket for Sam more with muscle memory than any actual sensations in his frozen hands. Sam grabbed one of Dean's hands and blew onto it warmly, rubbing both sides to warm it up more quickly. Sam might have been drunk out of his gourd, but he was still always concerned about Dean. Dean's breath hitched in his throat, feeling the heat of Sam sinking into his skin, and pulled his hand back. "I just wanted to make you feel better Dean. That's all I wanted. Tried to help, and just made it worse, and I don't know why. You never let me help you." Sam said darkly, emotion clouding his face. Sam couldn't hide his feelings on his best day, let alone his worst intoxicated evening. Dean shook his head. How could he explain? He had hoped, in Sam's state, to avoid this line of conversation. But at the same time, Dean knew Sam wasn't going to remember this in the morning, and that dropped his guard, making him realize he could be more honest than at any other time.

"I wanted to Sam. God. I wanted to. You were holding me, and, and, it was just… Sammy, you have no idea what goes through my head sometimes. No idea. I had to leave, okay? Just go to bed Sam. We'll talk in the morning." Dean turned, Sam's jacket in his hands, to get up and move himself across the room, to hang up their coats by the door. Sam reached out, gripping Dean's thigh in his large hand, stopping Dean from moving.

"I felt it, Dean. It was like nothing I ever felt before. I never knew kissing another person could feel like that." Sam's voice faded off, but his eyed drilled into Dean's quickly paling face, surprisingly clear and steady.

"Hush Sam, you don't know what you're saying. You're drunk, you need to sleep it off." Dean's mouth was dry, all moisture had evacuated the premises, leaving his mouth like the sandy beach he had ran on for hours earlier in the evening. To Dean's surprise, Sam nodded jerkily, as though agreeing with Dean's statement. Sam reached for Dean's hand, and Dean looked at him in puzzlement, but allowed Sam to hold his hand, tracing the lines in Dean's palm with an unsteady finger.

"Yeah, sounds good. C'mon." Sam responded, heftily pulling Dean's arm, throwing him off balance and causing Dean to have to catch himself with hands on the mattress splayed on either side of Sam, to prevent himself from landing directly on top of him.

"What the hell, Sam!" Dean grated, trying unsuccessfully to leverage himself back up into a standing position. Something prevented him from moving though- oh. Sam was tugging at Dean's T-shirt, keeping Dean hunched awkwardly over Sam, unable to straighten.

"You said it's bedtime. Let's go to bed." Sam agreed again, giving Dean a warm little half-smile, and reached out his hand, cupping the back of Dean's neck. Dean swallowed a lump of panic down his throat. This wasn't working out whatsoever. Sam had a tendency of being overly touchy feely on the rare occasions he over indulged, and always wound up snoring away in bed with Dean, as if he could only find comfort and rest sprawled out with his lanky limbs tangling themselves through Dean's bedding and Dean himself. Dean didn't usually didn't mind- as children, they had almost always shared a bed. There had been something so unearthly comforting in that little messy head of hair nestled into Dean's neck, slow deep breaths puffing out against Dean's neck and lulling him into a restful sleep, while his arms protectively cradled the brother he would protect even from the sandman himself. But not now, not with what was going on inside of Dean. He loved his baby brother more than life itself- Dean tried to convince himself that was the only reason Sam had such a profound effect on his psyche and emotions and physical being. Be that as it may, he just could not share a bed with Sam, not not, not with his traitorous body already flooding him with sensations ad hormones just with this close proximity. Dean released his right hand from propping himself up on the mattress and plucked ineffectually at Sam's hand clinging to his shirt. Sam's face started to darken again, and he realized Dean wasn't going along with his amazing plan to bed down together.

"'C'mon, Dean, you've been sleeping like crap for months now." Sam stated, patting the bed next to him. Sighing and rolling his eyes, Dean realized Sam was far too drunk for it to matter if he could or could not control the blood flow to his genitalia. After all, the only one who would remember the last several hours of the night would be Dean himself.

"Alright, alright Sammy, keep your pants on." Dean muttered, clambering over Sam to sink into the side of the mattress Sam had just invitingly patted.

"Yeah, okay…" Sam retorted, shimming his jeans down over his legs. "Pants on. Bad idea. Come on Dean, sleeping in pants is stupid. You're stupid." Sam snorted to himself over his own clever insult, dropping his jeans over the side of the bed, and flopping over to face Dean. Dean's face was shadowed, but he didn't move, just lay there frozen in silence. "Don't be a friggin weirdo," Sam chuffed, "you've still got your jacket on." And sliding his hand across Dean's taut stomach, pushed aside the flap of jacket that seemed so highly offensive to him at the moment.

"Stop it… stop it!" Dean hissed through clenched teeth, shoving Sam's shoulder, and knocking his hand away roughly. Sam looked puzzled, and allowed his hand to be swatted, dropping the open appendage down onto Dean's hip, rubbing the exposed flesh there with his thumb.

"Okay Dean, whatever you say Dean, let's just do what you want Dean," Sam said with a furrowed brow. "Just sleep in your clothes and wake up pissy, that sounds AWESOME."

"Knock it off Sammy. Got to bed. I'm serious. If I want to sleep in a damn jacket I will." Dean rasped, his breath coming out ragged in a way Sam didn't pick up. Instead of complying Sam hooked his index finger into the V-neck of Dean's wrinkled white T reflecting the pale moonlight drifting in through the partially parted window drapes, and yanked. The T-shirt gave way, tearing down Dean's chest, surprisingly easily.

"Always telling me what to do." Sam growled, wrenching the torn T-shirt away from his brother's chest. "Always gotta be Dean's way or the highway, like tonight, just ran off, the way you always do Dean, the way you always do, leaving me behind…" Sam let go of the T-shirt and grabbed a handful of Dean's hip instead, fingertips digging painfully into his flesh, in a way Dean knew was going to be pebbled in bruises in the morning. Dean went from moderately concerned to terrified in the space of a heartbeat. Sam sounded angry. Sam was never angry when he was drunk, yet he was angry now, and Dean couldn't begin to comprehend why.

"I know what it did to you, Dean. I could feel it in you, see it on your face. And you just ran away. Didn't say a word. Just left me here to figure things out on my own." Sam grated, his fingers trailing up from Deans hip to jab him roughly on the chest.

Dean's head exploded for the second time that evening and he groaned, feeling his eternal damnation sinking even deeper into his bones, branding him seven kinds of cursed.

"Sammy. Sam. Hush. I don't know what's gotten into you, but now's not the time, here's not the place…" Dean began, licking furtively at his lips, trying to draw moisture into his desert-ridden mouth. But Sam wasn't having it, not tonight, not after everything Dean had put him through recently.

"You're a selfish prick, Dean. Won't talk to me. Won't look at me. Won't work cases. Won't stop drinking and screwing your way through the country while I'm stuck next to you, trying to figure things out on my own."

"You think that's how I want this to go down, Sam? You think I want to hide from you? To not be able to think about anything else…" Dean bit down on his own words, preventing himself from being baited into saying something he couldn't take back. His heart hammered overtime staccato below his rib cage, fighting to burst out of his chest in a spray of blood and gore.

"I don't know what you want any more Dean, aside from sex and alcohol. What are you hiding from? Can't bear to look in the mirror anymore? I know I couldn't, if I'd been such an unbelievable skank." Sam quipped, roughly tossing his head back against their shared pillow.

"Watch your mouth." Dean cried, shocked at how badly it hurt that Sam thought so lowly of him. Sure, Dean had been a bit out of control recently, but Sam had never shamed or judged him for it before. Why was he starting now? What dynamic had changed to cause Sam to be so wantonly bitter about Dean's extracurricular activities?

"You don't get to bark orders at me when you don't like what I have to say." Sam huffed back, tears welling in his eyes. He couldn't help it. His head felt stuffed full of wool, his heart melting like candle wax and dribbling down into his stomach, where it tossed in a sea of warm beer and unsorted emotions. "you're not dad."

The last part of Sam's empathetic statement slammed into Dean like a sack of bricks.

"NO? I'm the closest thing you ever had to a real father. If I tell you to lasso the moon and bring it down for me you better do it, just because I tell you to. No father has had to sacrifice for a child the way I did for you. Don't you EVER throw dad into my face like he did a damn thing for either one of us, you spoiled little bitch." Dean didn't care if Sam was drunk or not, bringing John Winchester up like that crossed a serious line. The effect of Dean's tirade was instantaneous. Sam's entire demeanor softened. He knew Dean was right. Dean had given up every chance of freedom and happiness for Sam, because he knew without Dean, Sam's life would be a pile of rubble, torn down by the father who was supposed to build him up. His alcohol addled brain told him he better make up for such a serious faux-pass.

"I'll give you the moon, Dean, if you want it. I'm sorry." Sam choked out, rolling over to look Dean in the face. He still couldn't make out Dean's features in the darkness, and Dean didn't dignify Sam's apologetic statement with a response. "Dean…" Sam started again, and reached out tentatively to rest his hand onto his brother's now bare chest. "God, I'm sorry, D. I'm making such a mess of things." Sam felt, rather than saw, Dean's head tilt around to study Sam's face, not illuminated by the frail moonlight trickling though their window. Still, Dean said nothing. What kind of response would be adequate given the events of the day? He drew his hand away from Dean's chest, and instead rested his head gently in the hollow of Dean's shoulder, cushioned by the jacket he still wore, like they had lain as children. The response he elicited was immediate, as Dean grasped Sam closer to him, silently forgiving. Sam smiled, and his heart flooded with gratitude for the physical embodiment of perfection lying next to him, wrapped up in the body of his brother. There wasn't anything in the world Sam wouldn't do for Dean, and the love that swelled in his heart transcended his ability to express in any verbal way.


	4. Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter Four: Dream a Little Dream of Me

Synopsis: Sam & Dean cross the line.

Note: Please follow if you like what you're reading, and feel free to post a review! I'd like to know if you feel this story is hitting the mark or not. I've never written smut before so please excuse any awkwardness and share a bit of encouragement with me. Thank you so much for reading! Love to you all. This is going to be a long ride and I appreciate you staying on the train with me. :)

Sam woke as the sun was just starting to rise, dimly flooding the room with a tepid gray blue light, causing the room to look colder than it felt. Sam was up before Dean- and feeling surprisingly well, given the night he'd had. He was warm and totally at peace, something he couldn't remember feeling often enough except for a child when he'd wake up from a nightmare cradled and comforted by his older brother. Yawning, Sam discovered with embarrassment that he hadn't dreamt of tearing Dean's shirt in an immature fit of temper the night before. Sam slid his hand under his cheek and scrubbed a spot of drool that had leaked from the corner of his mouth off of Dean's shoulder. He'd never hear the end of it if Dean woke and found Sam had slobbered all over him. At some point during the night Dean must have removed his jacket and discarded it on the floor; Sam wondered why he hadn't removed the shredded t-shirt as well, and had both sides of the torn shirt clenched in his right fist as if to protect his modesty and keep his chest covered from prying eyes. Sam smiled a bit at the thought; after all, he'd been a set of prying eyes for a while now, regardless of if Dean knew that or not.

"Sam…" He heard his name spoken faintly. Looking up at Dean's face, seeing his eyelids fluttering and a line on his forehead alluding to a look of concentration, Sam realized that Dean wasn't awake after all, he was talking in his sleep, likely during an active dream. What could he be dreaming about that would cause him to whisper Sam's name in that breathy little voice? Sam reached out and fondled the pretty little shell of Dean's ear between his thumb and forefinger, whispering back,

"I'm here, Dean. I'll always be here." Dean's face seemed to settle at those words, though his eyelids still fluttered, and his empty left hand lying off the side of the bed twitched slightly. Sam heaved a dejected sigh. He truly didn't know what was going on between his brother and himself anymore. Sam had been screwed in the head when it came to Dean for as long as he could remember. Everyone close to the Winchesters could see the hero worship and adoration Sam help for Dean, clear as day. Thankfully, nobody read into that truth as far as Sam knew it reached. Dean was- always had been- the one very most important person in Sam's life, even more important than Sam himself. He had always looked to his older brother to lead and let him follow, but when Sam had reached about thirteen, something in their dynamic had changed. No longer did Sam look at his brother with only pride in his bravery, agility, strength, intelligence, sense of humor, stunning good looks, and on, and on… but he had begun to covet them. To selfishly wish that he could possess them. Not for himself; it wasn't a jealousy thing. It was almost as if appreciating those qualities in his brother wasn't enough- he needed to intimately own them, intimately possess his brother… and that was just crazy. Crazy, and creepy, and selfish, and wrong. Sam didn't understand how through the course of the years these feelings of desire and possession had just grown stronger, but he'd stopped trying to analyze them a long time ago. He knew he was beyond screwed up. Not just by what he had been through in the last several years of saving the world time and time again, but internally, there was something that caused him to love his brother more than any family member should love another. It was like he was brimming so full of love and adoration than nothing inside of him could contain it- and it was painful. It felt like Sam was drowning in it, all the while twisting in fatal flames. If Dean had been a woman who wasn't related to him, Sam would have gotten down on one knee ages ago. Giving his head a quick shake to clear it of such whimsical musings, Sam focused his eyes back on his brother and noticed that he had drifted his fingers from Dean's ear to his lips. Sam was always coming back to those lips. If God did personally take a paintbrush to a human's features, Dean was his prime example of artistic achievement, Dean's face being his Sistine Chapel. Specifically, his bow-shaped mouth. His lips were the most entrancing rose-pink color, full and pouty, yet somehow, not in any way effeminate. Running a gentle fingertip across them, Sam could swear they were butter covered in velvet, soft, yet firm, silken, and pliant. Under the light pressure of Sam's touch, Dean's lips fell slightly open, and his warm breath spilled out to caress the digit that Sam found was now slightly trembling. Sam groaned torturously as the feeling of moisture and radiating heat spilled down his body, unfurling throughout him, and caused his blood to boil. Sam lifted himself up onto his left elbow, and placed his right hand on Dean's rib cage, right below his pectoral muscle. The touch itself did interesting things to his brother's body; he could see the scant few strands of blonde baby fine hair in the center of Dean's chest prick up straight, and Dean's nipple which had just been soft and relaxed began to pebble into erectness. Sam bit down on his lip, watching the effect up such a simple touch. Was Dean this sensitive when he was with women, and conscious? Scooting closer to Dean, pressing his legs against his brother's so that he was being spooned in front of Sam's longer limbs, Sam caressed the pad of his thumb over the now perky nipple, curiosity for what it would feel like getting the best of him. Besides, Dean was obviously not planning on waking up anytime soon. As Sams's thumb made contact, Dean made a sound in his throat, and curved slightly up into the touch, obviously enjoying the contact despite still being unconscious. Sam could feel his breath coming quicker, and told himself he needed to get up- get up RIGHT NOW, and walk away, anywhere Dean wasn't. He choked that traitorous voice down. He was mesmerized and didn't think he could move right now if he tried. Sam lowered his face next to Deans, glossy brown tresses falling over his brother's face, and nuzzled his lips and nose into the crook between Dean's jaw and neck, inhaling the scent of him. His hand stretched out to cup Dean's pectoral, and he caressed his nipple again with his thumb, rolling it in a circle motion, wishing all the while the universe would pity Sam and stop time so he never had to be anywhere but here with Dean, touching him, holding him, breathing him in through all of his senses. Sam could feel Dean shudder under his touch, his right leg stretching slightly further into Sam's legs. Sam gasped and clutched Dean harder than he meant to. When Dean shifted, Sam was made unavoidably aware of how rock-hard he had become inside of his jeans. Dean's movement sent a coursing shock through Sam's body through his member, and Sam had imagined being electrified could fill him with such heady pleasure. Before he could stop himself, Sam ground his hips into that contact, letting out a shuddering, heaving breath as the friction made him see literal stars dazzling behind his shut eyelids. And just as suddenly as Sam's impulsive, intrusive caressing had begun, they stopped, as Sam felt the back of his neck being grasped roughly in a strong hand, his face being pulled forcefully forward. Shit. Shitshitshit. Dean had woken up to Sam's perverted fondlings, and Sam was about to be reviled by the person he loved more in life than his own self. His throat already burning with the tears welling up inside of him, Sam opened his limpid brown eyes to face Dean's fury.

Dean isn't sure what wakes him up first- if it's the feeling of eyes boring into him intently, or if it's the feeling of tender fingers caressing his ear. Dean is frustrated with being awoken; he's been having the most delicious dream of Sam, the kind of dream that leaves him sick to his stomach with guilt the rest of the day, the kind of dream that if he wasn't woken would have brought him some sweet release, even if he'd need to take a shower and wash his pajamas after. Now there is no release, but all the guilt of having subconsciously started having filthy thoughts about his innocent little brother… again. But is he really awake? He can smell Sam, feel him curled up against Dean's side, and his finger is stroking Dean's lips. He's got to still be dreaming. Somehow, he's only just imagined being awoken. Allowing himself to not fight the sensations on what Sam is doing to his entire being with is soft touches, Dean's lips fall slightly open as his heart begins to thud inside of his chest. Dean almost opens his eyes to tell dream Sam to come back when he feels the finger leaving his lips, but now there's a hand pressed to his chest, Sam's legs are pressing further into Dean's, and now something is brushing his nipple causing it to tighten and peak painfully fast, and now Sam's face is pressed into his neck, his beautiful, delicious smelling hair falling into Dean's face…. God, what a dream. In most of Dean's dreams Dean is doing the touching, and it's raw, and it's hard, and Sam is crying out as Dean rocks into his body, shooting to the finish line at a million miles an hour… but this is different, this is tender, and tentative, and somehow it feels right in every sense of the word. It isn't dirty or unclean, it's perfection, and somehow, sacredly so. Dean's head is beginning to swim with pleasure even though he's hardly been touched, and he allows his right leg to fall slightly further into Sam to allow more room in his pants for what's growing between his legs. As he does, he feels Sam's morning wood grinding into the side of his thigh, a shudder trembling through his entire body. There's only so much a man can handle, even in a dream, and Dean isn't about to allow himself to be humped like a pillow underneath a horny dog. This is his dream, and he's behind the steering wheel.

Dean reaches his arm out, opening his eyes, and grabs Sammy firmly by the neck, pulling him closer to demand the contact every nerve in his body is screaming out for. Sam's eyes open, deep brown pools shimmering with a slick of tears, and as Dean clashes their mouths together, Sam's eyes widen with what appears to be shock, and a fire Dean has never seen in him during his dreams before.

Dean's eyes snapped open, his green eyes looking black as night, and there wasn't an ounce of disgust in them- all Sam could make out was a predatory gleam he had only ever seen before when Dean was moving in for the kill on a hunt. Sam was completely shocked. Out of all the possible scenarios of what could happen if Dean woke to his little brother grinding on his ass, getting eaten alive by what appeared to be a dragon wearing Dean's face was somehow one he hadn't quite imagined. As quick as his tears had welled up, they dried out, because Dean was crushing his mouth onto Sam's, and his tongue was curling into Sam's mouth with avid hunger and knee weakening passion, drawing Sams's tongue out to dance with his. Sam's entire body began to tingle in a way that had him gasping into his brother's kiss, a greedy hedonistic moan escaping from him. Dean shifted his body even further into Sam's to give him purchase for some gratification, and Sam bucked his hips into the heat he felt radiating out from Dean's waist.

Dean grinned as much as he could as he felt his mouth being devoured by his little brother. In all the dreams he'd had, Sam had never played an active hand in the… sextivities that commenced. This dream was different; Sam was reacting like an eager untouched teenaged girl. Well, Dean was nothing, if not a giver, and giving to Sam was more like receiving a present himself.

It was too much. The hot scent of Dean, the taste of him, the feel of his tongue massaging Sam's, the turmoil of emotions rocking through Sam so violently, the fact that Dean wasn't disgusted with him, but was in fact just as greedily pressing his erection into Sam's… the love that was swelling and filling him and reaching out to join the blazing white heat spreading from Sam's groin… if either one of them moved even a fraction of an inch, if Dean's cock thrust into his one more time, Sam was going to come harder than he ever had in his entire life, without even taking his jeans off.

Dean could feel how close Sam was, and he was amazed. He knew Sam was no virgin and he couldn't understand why his dream had him on the cusp of orgasm after a few moments of kissing and grinding. Nonetheless, Sam was whimpering into Dean's mouth, arms wrapped around Dean, fingers pressing almost painfully into his lower back as he pushed into Dean, sweat beading on his brow as his eyes glazed over with such powerful emotion and physical pleasure that Dean felt himself being dragged closer to the edge.

"Come on baby, you can do it. Come for me now." Dean coaxed Sam, purposefully thrusting even harder against him. Sam threw his head back and convulsed against Dean, who could feel a slight dampness against his still erect dick as Sam emptied the contents of his balls on the inside of his jeans. "So fucking stunning, baby boy. God, I love you." Dean said, shaking his head, and reaching out to brush the sweat-slicked strands of hair from Sam's eyes.

"D….Dean? I didn't mean to wake you. You were dreaming, and.. That was… I mean, I… can't believe I.." Sam stuttered, his pupils still sex blown, a flush spreading up his neck and into his cheeks. As he spoke, Sam could see Dean's eyes widening, a look of horror spreading across his face, an almost greenish tinge seeping into the ghostly white pallor his face had just taken. "Dean, are you okay? I'm so sorry, please don't be upset with me, Jesus Dean, don't look at me like that…" Sam begged shakily. He had never seen a look like this on Dean's face before, and the giddy exhalation he had just been feeling immediately began churning into humiliation and confusion. Had his sick brain just imagined that Dean had been a willing participant in what had just taken place? Or had he been so love sick, so psychotically ill mentally, that he had just woken his own brother up by molesting him for his own revolting release? "Please Dean, say something, I am so fucking sorry D, I don't know what got into me, don't just stare…" Sam was babbling, and sobbing at the same time, feeling more and more sick and terrified with every second that ticked by in which Dean refused or was unable to speak.

"I thought it was a dream…" Dean mumbled, his voice sounding dull and listless. What he had just done, there was no coming back from. Sam trusted Dean; trusted him with his very mind, soul, heart, and body. Sam would do anything Dean asked of him even if Dean asked him to deliver himself back into the cage for all eternity. Sam was practically still a baby; impressionable, eager to please, and unwilling to do anything to alienate Dean and his affections. It was obvious that Dean's perversion was no longer controllable. Now he was even waking from his dreams to sexually assault his own flesh and blood. Dean buried his face into his hands, a broken groan ripping from the depths of him. "How could I, how DARE I." He snarled, fingernails digging into his forehead, teeth gritting together painfully. But he couldn't allow himself to sink into the pit of despair he felt himself lowering into- not until he knew if Sam was alright. Dean very well deserve to eat a bullet right then and there, but until he knew that Sam could be okay without him, he needed to see what damage he had done to the most precious human God had ever deemed to grace the earth with. Dropping his hands, Dean looked over to asses Sam's state of mind and face the greatest fear he had ever had that he must now face- Sam really and truly hating him after his betrayal and abuse of trust.

"Sammy?" But Sam wasn't there. The bed, the room, was empty and stark in the cold early morning air- the front door was wide open, and the only trace of Sam was his discarded jacket from the night before in a puddle on the ground beside the bed.

Stars shining bright above you  
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"  
Birds singing in the sycamore trees  
Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty-night and kiss me  
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me  
While I'm alone and blue as can be  
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading but I linger on dear  
Still craving your kiss  
I'm longing to linger till dawn dear  
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
But in your dreams whatever they be  
Dream a little dream of me


	5. The Cold Part

Chapter Five: The Cold Part

Synopsis: Sam leaves; Dean follows. As he always does and always will.

Note: A shorter chapter. No smut. Moving forward, mostly all chapters will be song titles, and I will include lyrics as applicable. Music is a huge motivator to me and I like to share a bit of what's going on in my environment as I'm listening to music and feeling out the story. Please enjoy, follow, and review! Thanks for reading!

****Please also note: The first seven chapters are already written, which is why they are being posted in such quick succession. I don't want you to worry when the pace drops. I imagine when I reach new material I will post about a chapter a week, which isn't a terrible place. Just wanted to give y'all a warning! Thank you so much for still being here with me and our boys :) There will be plot at some point, but the first 8-9 chapters are more or less devoted to relationship development. Also... I'm sorry in advance. This is not the happiest chapter than ever was.

Sam held himself below the surface of the ocean until his lungs burned; turned into ice. Something about the feeling of the frigid salt water leaching the life-giving warmth from his skin felt renewing; cleansing, almost. Reluctantly, as Sam felt the blackness creeping up to steal away his consciousness, he shoved himself up from the rocky sea floor, his head breaking through the surface tension with a splash. He had run to the ocean without knowing the purpose; as if drawn to the grey, swirling depths, unaware of Dean's escape to this exact cove the night before. He hadn't bothered to strip his jeans and t shirt, instead plunging into the water with a sharp intake of breath, needing to feel the icy pins of late-winter water boring into him. Gasping for breath, Sam opened his eyes, reached up with his hands, and slicked his salt-laden wet hair back from his face, beginning to laugh. As he had held himself below the surface of the water, eyes open, staring into the sky through the rippling of the waves above him, he had come to a realization. A nervous titter at first. No, he now firmly realized, after replaying the soft-core pornographic scene that had commenced earlier in their motel bedroom, he hadn't taken advantage of his brother. Now a rueful chuffing laugh. He hadn't imagined Dean being the one to instigate the kiss, or to allow Sam purchase and access to his body. A full-bodied chuckle. Dean had. His brother. His Dean. Dean had bored those green agate eyes into Sam's soul with such a seething hunger that Sam could still feel the burning sensation deep within. Sam shuddered. Dean had brought their mouths together, lapping into Sam like Sam was his oxygen and without him he would surely suffocate. No, Sam hadn't imagined it. Wracking bouts of laughter bubbled out of Sam, leaving him gasping for breath as he flopped out onto the frozen beach on his back, arms and legs splayed as if Sam was going to make a snow angel in the sand. So here it was. Sam had not imagined Dean needing Sam as badly as Sam had needed him. If Sam hadn't imagined it, then clearly, his rational thought was not to be trusted and his sanity had finally fractured. Dean was the most pure human being Sam had ever known. That had likely ever existed. There was a reason Michael had wanted Dean, and no one but Dean, for his vessel. A reason Castiel had pulled Dean from the depths of hell, his work on earth incomplete. Pure light radiated from him, unsullied by the gruff exterior Dean presented to the world. The drinking, the sleeping around, the temper… no, those things were not Dean. They were like scars on his skin, little mars that couldn't touch what truly made him Dean. No, Dean would never succumb to anything so tarnished. Dean would never see Sam the way Sam saw Dean, because he was just too unadulterated. He didn't have the capacity to, in that deeply unblemished soul of his. Sam had been able to save himself from the insanity of his soul being torn to shreds, caged with Lucifer, just to lose his sanity to something so human, so weak. Sam knew he was the opposite of Dean in every way. The Yin to Dean's proverbial Yang. Where in Dean shone hope, and integrity, Sam knew he contained nothing but corruption and anger. They had existed together in perfect counter part up until now, playing off their differences to conquer every challenge they had faced. But this was something different, entirely. This wasn't something Dean could save Sam from, and Sam couldn't be around to hurt his brother any longer. He might not have much inside him that was decent and good, but he could muster up the overwhelming, uncontrollable love he felt to give him the strength to do the one thing he had promised on every star, soul, and particle of the universe he would never do- leave Dean, and never come back.  
Sam screwed his face up, clenching the muscles of his body to hold back the wracking sobs that were shuddering through his body with a force so strong Sam knew he was going to fly apart into a million pieces; break into the very atoms he was comprised of, and then even those splitting, evaporating the beach into a mushroom-cloud of atomic energy. Breathe. Sam forced himself to cling to that one rational thought. Breathe. You can't save Dean from you, you can't.. you can't leave Dean, if you can't breathe, think, get up, move.. MOVE, DAMMIT! Sam tried to lift himself up from the pebbled beach, tried to find purchase with his elbow to pry himself from the ground. Oh. Hypothermia. Why hadn't he realized the worst thing he could have done after diving into a freezing ocean was to lie down unmoving for an extended period of time? He should have gotten up. Starting running. Forced his blood to move, to create and spread warmth throughout his frozen body. Sam choked down a momentary surge of panic as he felt that blackness creeping into the peripheral of his thoughts again, welcoming, soothing, and promising an end to his pain. Would it really be so bad to let go? If he accepted it, allowed his body to succumb to what he had subjected it, he could leave Dean, without ever having to feel the pain of it. Sam felt guilt seep into him, for a moment. So selfish. Leaving Dean was one thing, but… dying? Yes. Dean would be better off without Sam. Had always been better off without Sam. Dean wouldn't have to keep taking care of his weak, wrecked, and now crazy little brother. Dean could build a life for himself, one truly safe from Sam's polluting presence and crumbling mental status. The longer Sam lay there, torn and wracked with internal agony, the more the decision was taken out of his hands. Sam reached out to the enveloping blackness, a sigh escaping from his purple-tinged lips. Dean. Goodbye. I love you. I'm so sorry. Dean.

So long to this cold, cold part of the world  
So long to this bone-bleached part of the world  
So long to this salt-soaked part of the world  
I stepped down as president of Antarctica  
Can't blame me  
Don't blame me  
So long to this sad, sad part of the world  
So long

Dean's run from the motel room toward the beach three miles away wasn't desperate and hurried the way it had been the night before. This time he was running to think, to feel the physical exertion, not a panicked, wild escape. Melancholia was a welcoming friend, accepting Dean into a warm embrace. There was no anger, fear, or recrimination in the sadness Dean was feeling, and while he didn't deserve to be free from those emotions, he basked in the freedom. Dean was so tired. So tired of fighting the growing feelings he had for his brother, so tired of feeling wrong, and sick, and guilty. He was physically tired too, from the months of abuse he'd subjected himself to, the starvation, the drinking, the mental torture, the sleep deprivation. Dean smiled faintly, a smile devoid of pleasure, but twisted, and self-reprehensive. He might have fooled himself into believing he thought he was dreaming when Sam had begun tenderly caressing him, but the truth was, he had known. He had KNOWN that it wasn't a dream, but he had continued, and had allowed himself to pervert the worshiping puppy love Sam held for his big brother into something carnal, and physical, and distinctly unbrotherly. Un-familial.  
Dean paused at the entrance path to the beach cove, combing his fingers through his gold flecked hair, blowing his breath out slowly through his lips, closing his eyes and just feeling his heart pounding in his chest. What did he do from here? How could he face Sam? Would Sam come back? Deans face screwed up slightly at the thought, and he curtly shook his head, eyes still closed. Of course Sam would come back. He had left without so much as his jacket. He would be back; they'd have a chance to talk, to work through… whatever had happened back in that hotel room. As good as Dean was at hating himself, blaming himself, torturing himself, he had to recognize that Sam had been the one who had started the touching. Dean doubted Sam had meant for it to turn into what it had turned into, but his tentative, explorative fingers on his older brother had obviously elicited a physical response in himself. There was something going on not just with Dean, but with Sam as well, and they needed to figure it out, and decide how to handle the line they had crossed. Dean opened his eyes and walked slowly down the beach toward the water, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping onto the shore, relaxing into the tangy salt scent as he watched a stray gull flapping across the sky. Dean smiled a bit again, still enveloped in melancholy, and looked toward the beach where he had drawn such comfort from the night before. And that's when the freight train slammed into Dean's chest, disemboweling him on impact, sending shrapnel rocketing through his chest to shred Dean's heart.  
Dean didn't recall running to Sam's prone form sprawled on the sand. He had just seen Sam, ghostly white and unmoving, lips blue, and had been there by his side, already hysterically sobbing, begging, panic tearing through him, eating him alive. "No Sammy, no, come on baby boy, you're alright, I've got you, Dammit Sammy, you can't fucking leave me, please, Sam, wake the fuck up, this isn't real, this isn't happening…" He clutched Sam, pulled him to his chest, desperately willing life back into his brother. Sam's skin was like ice, Dean could feel icicles in Sam's hair pressed to his cheek. "Snap out of it Dean. HANDLE YOUR SHIT." Dean snarled at himself, violently shoving down the shock and panic that was cementing Dean into inaction. Dean pressed his fingers to Sam's neck, holding his breath and just willing to feel a heartbeat. There. Relief flooded through Dean like a tidal wave. Sam was still alive. For now. Dean felt Sam take a breath, low and shallow. So. Sam hadn't drowned. He was breathing, his heart beating. What had happened? Time for that later. The only thought that needed to exist in Dean right now was warming Sam up. Keep him from slipping away. Dean's brain scrambled desperately. There was no time to get Sam back to the motel room. He'd be dead before Dean could ever get him back there. A sob broke from Dean's throat; he choked it down. No time for that. Something tickled at the back of Dean's mind. A lifeguard station. He had seen one, further up the shore, away from the little gravely cove, up at the open beach with the softer sand where tourists spent their time during the summer. How far was it? It didn't matter. It was the closest potential source of warmth. Dean didn't hesitate. He pulled Sam into his arms, lifting his arm over his shoulder the way he had the night before, arm gripping Sam's waste, and began moving, his every step drawing him closer to something that could save his brother. "hold on, Sam. I've got you. I'm here. Don't die on me. Don't you fucking dare."  
It took an agonizingly long time for Dean to reach the lifeguard station. Dean's face was smeared with tears, frustration at their slow pace pushing angry, hissing whimpers through his gritted teeth. Dean hiked Sam further back up on his shoulders as he felt him starting to slip, and violently kicked the door to the small building open unceremoniously. There was no time. Dean dragged Sam over the door lintel, and flipped the light switch next to the door. Nothing. Of course, it was the winter, why would power be provided to the shack? Dean braced Sam against his hip, pulling his silver zippo from his pants pocket, and fumbled it lit with a shaking hand. Dean looked around. From the light provided by the zippo and leaking in through the open door, Dean could make out a hospital style cot, probably for tourists needed first aide care. Dean drug Sam over to the cot, groaning, and dropped him down on the cot, hefting his legs over the edge. Blankets. Dean needed blankets. Staring around wildly, Dean spotted a closet across from the bed, and wrenched the door open. There were some folded blankets on a shelf of the closet. Dean felt a tear of relief spill over his cheek to join the other salty tracks already present. Dean tugged the blankets from the shelf, whirling back around to Sam. He needed to get his brother out of the clinging wetness of his clothes. Dean struggled with Sam's jeans button. He couldn't get the sopping wet, frozen clothes off Sam quickly enough. Terror wracked Dean's hands with tremors. Screw it. Dean pulled his knife out of his boot and sliced through the wet material, whipping it away from Sam's clammy skin. So white. Dean had never seen a person this pale before. A heightened surge of fear sped Dean's motions. Next the shirt. When Sam was naked, the sight of which Dean could barely register in his blindly focused state of bringing life back into his brother, Dean shook out blanket after blanket, wrapping each one around Sam, wrapping him up the way he had when Sam was little and carefree and would giggle and ask his big brother to turn him into a mummy. Five blankets wasn't enough. Couldn't possibly be enough. But it was all Dean had. With Sam out of his wet things and wrapped in blankets, Dean felt he could take a moment to find another source of warmth. Before Dean began searching, he shut the door to the shack to try and keep as much of the cold winter air out as possible. He walked briskly around the small square room with his zippo lit again, and spotted something underneath a desk in the corner. Gratitude flooded through Dean as he realized it was a kerosene heater. Dean snatched the heater over and placed it next to the cot, praying it had fuel in it. Dean kneeled next to the heater, raised the wick with the wick nob, opened the wick cover, and lit the wick with his lighter. Flames sprang within the heater, and heat flooded from the metal cage. Okay. Dean made a mental tally. Sam was dry. Tick. Except for his hair. He was wrapped in blankets. Tick. A heater was now pumping heat into the cold room. Tick. Dean breathed. Sam was going to make it. He had to. Now for Sam's hair. Dean explored the room again, looking for towels, and began cursing loudly when he realized a damn LIFE GUARD STATION wasn't stocked with any towels. Dean hysterically laughed at that, a nervous sound that clipped off when Dean clicked his teeth shut. No time for hysterics, either. Dean shrugged out of his coat and tugged his shirt over his head. He knelt next to the bed, allowing his eyes to finally settle on Sam by the flickering light of the kerosene heater. Sam's lips were still blue, his breathing so shallow Dean could barely discern it. Dean gently wrapped his t shirt around Sam's head, noticing that while Sam wasn't perceptively warmer, at least the icicles in his hair had melted, and Dean clung to that fact that as a saving grace that Sammy was going to make it through this. Dean firmly squeezed as much of the water as he could from Sam's lanky tresses with the cotton shirt, then brought around a dry spot of the shirt to ruffle through Sam's hair, drawing out excess moisture. There, that was the best Dean could do. Dropping his shirt to the floor and pulling his coat back on, Dean clambered into the bed on top of Sam, and covered his brother's body with his own, faces cradled together, the frigidity of Sam's cheek causing tears to immediately well up in Dean again. Dean allowed his warm breath to puff against Sam's face. Dean screwed his eyes shut and began to pray to God to save his little brother. There were no words to his prayer, it was more a focused thought pouring out of Dean like a laser beam spilling into the heavens. All Dean could do now was continue to think that wordless prayer and wait, giving Sam his warmth, and hope it was enough.


	6. Comatose

Note: We are almost caught up to all my currently written chapters. I am still working on it now that I get actual days off (going from working 12 hour shifts 7 days a week to only working 12 hour shifts 4 days a week) so the pace shouldn't slow too drastically. Just want you to have a heads up! Thank you so, so much for the support- your comments, kudos, and bookmarks mean everything. It's what keeps me energized and writing; knowing that this isn't just for myself, but that others are along for the ride. So if you enjoy this, please feel more than welcome to do those things! I love you guys! 

 

"Dean." Sam exhaled his brother's voice. "I can't move." Swallowing down confusion, Sam struggled to move his arms, but found himself constricted by something, and crushed down by the weight of his brother's bulk on top of him. "Did you mummy wrap me?" Sam tried to recall where he was, and why he was there, and why he was sweltering hot, wrapped up in blankets, underneath Dean.

"Hell yeah I mummy wrapped you dude, you're lucky that's all I did to you to warm you up. What the hell, Sammy!" Came Dean's gruff reply, but Sam could feel a literal weight lift from his chest as Dean shifted off him and began to loosen the blankets from his squirming brother's shoulders. Not waiting for a response, Dean quickly inquired, "How do you feel? Are you warm? Can you move now?" Sam peeled a sweaty arm out from the bulk of blankets and smoothed his hair back out of his eyes, and peered at Dean while trying to understand why they appeared to be in a little wooden shack, on a cot, by light of a kerosene heater.

"Yeah Dean, I'm good. I…." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, as the memory of collapsing on the beach, lying there, waiting to die, welled into him. "Shit, Dean. You… how did you find me? Where are we?"

"I just went for a jog and there you were, looking like you'd been dead for a week. I had no idea if I was going to be able to save you. Sammy, I thought you were gone." Dean's voice was light, and somber, with a quavering note to it, deep with an emotion Sam couldn't identify. He ignored the question of where they were. There'd be time for that later. Right now, there were more important things to figure out. "What happened Sam?"

"I…. I just wanted to clear my head. You know how much I love swimming." Dean nodded slightly. He knew. Sam was always in the water as a kid. That had been a tool Dean could use to console his brother when they were forced to pick up and move, yet again. Hey Sam, look, the motel has a pool. Let's go swimming later, okay? "I wasn't thinking I guess. I stayed in too long, and I just…." Sam looked down at the blankets covering him, and withdrew his other arm from them, clasping his hands together in front of him, face obscured with shadow and his now fully dried hair. "Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad thing if you hadn't found me." And Sam's ears were ringing, his vision sparking white, then black, then the colors in the room settled back into his vision. Gaping at Dean, Sam clapped his right hand to his stinging cheek, worrying the inside of his cheek with his tongue, where he could taste blood. "Did you just SLAP me?"

"How DARE you say that. How dare you even THINK that." Dean's face looked white, and piqued, his freckles standing out darkly in contrast. His voice broke, and he buried his face in the hand he had just backhanded Sam with.

"It's true, Dean. What I did this morning… I can't even apologize. There are no sorries big enough to cover me here. You have no idea what's been going on in my head. I'm seriously delusional. And I just… I can't stop it anymore. Maybe it's all that time down in the cage finally seeping in, or maybe it's just me. All I know is… I can't ever bear for you to look at me the way you looked at me this morning. I'd rather DIE, Dean. That felt worse than dying." Dean dropped his hand and studied Sam's face. Dean had finally regained his color, and tears were dancing in the corners of his eyes. God, what a beautiful face Sam had. It was something Dean could never get enough of looking at. So open, so guileless. His face was not a work of art. It was a blank canvas, and every emotion- like fresh paint- was worn raw on that cloth; his face was just not capable of lying. The silence extended, as Sam was finally able to meet Dean's eyes. He couldn't see past the sheen of tears to understand what Dean was thinking, but he felt his brother reach out and place his warm, calloused hand inside of Sam's right hand, and gently grip his palm with his fingertips. Sam felt everything in that soft touch, and for the first time since this morning, he felt warmth seeping back into his heart. He didn't know how, but some way, they were going to be alright. They would move past this. Sam could feel love and acceptance in Dean's simple touch, not the disgust and remorse he had expected. Taking the strength that was offered in Dean's physical contact, Sam continued. "I love you, Dean. I know you know I love you. We don't say it, but we love each other. I know that. That's not what I mean. You're my big brother, my best friend, my father figure… and I love you for all of that. But I also… Dean, I also love you as so much more. I don't know when it started or how it turned into this, but every time I look at you, it's like my heart is just going to explode, because I can't handle the intensity of loving you. And I know it's wrong, okay, I get that. I'm pretty sure I've lost my shit, man. I'm not saying I want to die but I am saying I can't live life this way anymore, and I'm sorry if that pisses you off, but it should piss you off a lot less than your own brother being…." His voice broke, and he couldn't finish what he was going to say. What he had already said was too much, and Sam was feeling crushed by the enormity of the vileness had just exposed.

"My own brother being what, Sam?" Dean's voice was such a low rumble Sam almost wasn't able to hear it. His hand on Sam's tightened, somehow offering reassurance, as if saying "it's okay Sam. I can't hate you for this. I couldn't hate you for anything."

"Your own brother being in love with you. Romantically fucking in love with you, Dean. Jesus." Sam practically shouted, his voice loud, a note of hysteria threading through those words. His nostrils flared as his breaths came quicker, panic welling up under the surface. "No wonder you've been so out of control recently, I don't know how you've been able to put up with me, always staring, like this sick, fucking pervert…" Dean was shaking his head, slowly wagging it back and forth, yet his hand had not released Sam's. Sam tried to pull back, to break the contact. Dean shouldn't have to pretend to be okay with this, shouldn't have to subject himself to Sam's touch ever again.

"You love me, Sammy?" Dean's voice was lighter now, astonished sounding, like he wasn't sure he had heard Sam's confession correctly. His grip tightened yet again around Sam's hand when he tried to pull away in humiliation.

"That's not what I'm saying Dean. You're not listening. God, open your ears for once. I'm saying when you speak my name, it almost makes me cry, hearing my name in your mouth. When you look at me, it physically hurts, because all I want to do is touch you. I see you naked, Dean, and it literally makes my cock hard. I am IN love with you." His voice was clipped and angry, as if Dean shouldn't have forced him into explaining further. "So yeah, Dean, maybe I thought I'd be doing you a FUCKING FAVOR if you didn't have to ever know." Dean was shaking his head again, which somehow infuriated Sam even more. "Shake your head all you want Dean, it doesn't change the facts. Somewhere along the line loving you so much… changed. It's like my heart couldn't contain what we have between us anymore in a platonic way. I didn't realize how far I'd let this go until this morning. And I am so sorry that I…" His voice trailed off again, and he hung his head, anger snuffed out, overwhelming sadness winning the battle of warring emotions within his chest.

Sammy loves me. Sammy is in love with me. The realization is knocking the breath out of me, entirely, and warmth suffuses my entire body, giddiness and joy bubbling up from my depths like a boiling kettle. I want to laugh, and to cry, and to pick Sam up and twirl him around the room, and to tackle him to the cot and kiss him until the end of time, all at once. Months of emotional turmoil, of self-loathing, of pain and disgust, is seared away from my soul, like pitch being consumed by a cleansing fire. All that is left behind is peace, and acceptance, and gratitude, and wonderment. Sammy wants me the same way I want him. Sammy's in love with me. I pull Sam close to me as if he weighs nothing, pulling him into my arms. I can't live a second more without holding him, showing him how much I love him, what he means to me. And now I'm laughing; there's no better way to express what I'm feeling. I'm laughing, and it's the happiest laugh that anyone has ever laughed in the history of laugher.

Dean is holding me like I'm a baby. Rocking me, with my face pressed against his shoulder, the way he used to when we were kids and I had been scared of the monster under the bed. I should be fighting this, but instead I'm crying; hot tears pouring out of me. I'm ugly crying, I'm hiccupping, my nose is running, and Dean is laughing, his eyes are crinkled in that way they do only for me when I've said something unintentionally hilarious, he's got his arms around me, and I'm laughing too, and suddenly, I know nothing I have ever felt or thought about my brother is wrong, he accepts it, he accepts me, and somehow we're going to make it through this. We're laughing together, our foreheads touching, and everything is right in the world again. As long as we have each other, nothing is ever going to hurt us again. Dean accepts me, and I've never been so grateful in my entire existence on the face of this earth.

Sam and Dean's foreheads rested against each other, and they searched each other's faces. Dean wore a look of joy; Sam's, of utter contentment. Sam smiled shyly at his older brother, a dimple flashing, unsure of where this left them, or what he should be said, or why Dean looked so happy to hear Sam's confession. Neither brother wanted to break the silence, or the feeling of rightness and love building between them. Dean reached up to cup Sam's cheek with his hand, and ran a thumb over Sam's cheek, ghosting over the tears still drying there, rubbing them out of existence. Sam's skin was like silk, and Dean bit his bottom lip at the feeling, cutting off a groan.

"Baby boy, don't you ever think for a second that I could hate you. You are the most precious thing on this earth, and nothing you could ever do or say is going to change how much I love you. How much I need you." His voiced cracked on need. Somehow words were not enough. Sam's face became shyer; softened. "And I do need you, Sam. More than anyone has ever needed… anything. I've been doing everything I can to think about anything but… well, what I've been thinking about you. The chicks… the bourbon, the distractions, they just haven't been working. I've been killing myself, Sam. I've literally been punishing myself for these feelings. And the whole time, you've been feeling the same way? This can't be real. I'm dreaming. But I'm not. You're here, I'm here, this IS real." Dean's eyes bored back into Sam's, losing all traces of earlier amusement, instead, a vast look of hunger spreading across his face. Sam remembered this same look on Dean's face earlier when he had woken Dean up. This was the look his brother had worn before invading Sam's mouth with his tongue. Sam felt a blush start to suffuse his face, a growing heat expanding in his stomach, goosebumps immediately pricking on his bare arms. Dean saw the goosebumps as Sam shivered, and reached out to caressed Sam's arm. "Are you cold, Sammy? Need me to warm you up?"

"Not cold, Dean." Sam said, his voice thick with emotion. The little life guard station was blissfully warm from body heat and the fire of the kerosene heater. He pressed into Dean's caress, and reached his other hand out, hesitating and letting it fall. Sam didn't even know how to process the information he had just been presented with.

"Good. Because I'm taking these blankets off you now." Dean said seriously, watching Sam's face for a reaction. Sam pinked up immediately, his breath catching. Oh. Well this was an interesting turn of events. Sam stared, entranced, as Dean tugged the blankets down slowly to just below Sam's belly button, devouring every angle and plane and section of creamy sun browned skin with his eyes, pupils creeping larger in a way that sped Sam's heart rate. Every little puckered scar told a chapter of Sam's life, a chapter that Dean intimately knew and remembered, since there had never been a time in Sam's life when Dean wasn't there, watching over him and loving him and protecting him as best he could. Every freckle on Sam's expanse of thickly muscled abdomen was a paragraph of the story, every inch of a skin, a preamble of the most beautiful story ever written. Dean's breath left him in a shaky rattle, and he pressed a hand to the crotch of his jeans, where his erection was growing painfully. Sam took in Dean's reaction to something as simple as just seeing his naked chest, and his eyes widened. He had never dreamed in a million years that Dean could have the same reactions Sam had been achingly hiding. Sam shifted up on the cot, scooting forward, and grabbed the flaps of Dean's unzipped jacket questioningly, shyness slowly ebbing back. Dean shimmied his shoulders, slipping out of the jacket, and Sam's eyes flew open at Dean's sudden partial nakedness- he wasn't wearing a shirt under the jacket. Dean threw the jacket where it fell to the floor with a dull thump.

"Dean…" Sam breathed, chest heaving slightly with the deep breaths he was forcing himself to take to stay calm. He was completely naked under the blankets, he could feel, and Dean had pulled them down dangerously far, to the point where any shifting would let his rigidity spring free unfettered. The feeling of Dean's eyes on his body was enough to have him squirming. He had never felt so on fire to be touched before in his life. "Would you… touch me?" He asked, shyly, inhibitions crumbling away under the weight of so much need.

"Oh, I'm going to touch you, Sammy. I'm going to make you forget your name." Dean purred out, his words sounding like honey and cinnamon, cloyingly sweet; burning like fire. Sam shivered. Dean pushed Sam back into the cot, gently, with a hand on his chest, and Sam allowed himself to be lowered, on fire with the promises Dean was making him. Dean lowered his face to Sam's, the scent of him blacking out Sam's vision, and kissed him for the second time that day. This time the kiss wasn't crushing, it was gentle, a surprising contrast to Dean's words. Dean moved his lips from Sam's, releasing his mouth. "Yes, baby, I'll touch you…" he reiterated, reaching below the blanket, and fisted Sam's already needy member. Sam cried out, not expecting the sudden contact.

"Holy shit." He choked, and bucked into Dean's fist involuntarily. Dean stroked him softly, and Sam groaned, eyes screwed shut.

"I've never touched another man before, you know, Sam. Tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, and I'll stop." Dean said, a touch of embarrassment in his voice. Sam opened his eyes again, to see Dean lowering his mouth to his jaw, licking a swath to Sam's ear, where he suckled on the lobe, eliciting another gasp from Sam.

"Don't stop, Jesus Dean, please." Sam demanded, pleasure singing through his veins at the feeling of his brother's mouth and hand on him. Dean, encouraged by Sam's pleadings, lowered his mouth from Sam's earlobe, trailing down Sam's long neck, and sensually licked the hollow where Sam's neck and shoulder met, and resumed sucking, harder this time, nipping as he sucked, his mouth growing more ardent. Sam felt a bead of precome drip from the tip of him at the gratification of pain mixed with pleasure. Dean's hand slicked over the drop, allowing it to moisten Sam's shaft, increasing the pleasure of the slow and steady strokes. Dean was quite obviously working Sam with a mission, not to bring him release as quickly as possible, but to draw out the experience. Dean lowered his mouth further on Sam, pressing firm kisses to his pectoral; ghosting a kiss on Sam's tightening nipple. Dean pressed his tongue flat to Sam's nipple, warming the flesh, and then closed his mouth around it, sucking slightly, warm tongue lathing Sam with sensations he wasn't equipped to handle quietly. "fuck." Sam choked out, whole body tensing. "Dean that feels AMAZING." Dean chuckled against Sam, and he scraped his teeth from the top of the flesh to the nub at the end, hard enough to hurt, but soft enough to have Sam crying out again with the surprising sensuality of it. Dean continued to work Sam under the blanket, felt Sam squirming underneath him, felt his balls tightening, and could tell Sam was becoming deliciously undone. Dean was getting off on this, feeling waves of pleasure wracking through his body knowing what he was doing to Sam. Ruefully, Dean realized if he continued what he was doing to Sam, he was going to cream his jeans untouched. Well, that's the price of doing business in Chinatown. Dean released Sam's nipple. He was going to lick and kiss every single millimeter of Sam's skin, but the strength of the emotions flooding through Dean and Sam did not allow time for delayed gratifications today.

"I'm going to suck you off now." Dean stated as if informing Sam the sky was blue. Sam met Dean's eyes, understanding that Dean was not just stating his intent, but giving Sam a chance to change his mind and stop what was happening. Sam immediately nodded, dragging the blankets way from his waist, revealing his leaking phallus, Dean's hand gripped around it. Dean smiled at Sam's eagerness to have Dean's lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes flashing naughtily at Sam. Sam was feeling more exposed than he ever had, but modesty was won over by trust in his brother, and Sam spread his thighs slightly, allowing Dean to settle between them more comfortably. Dean drank in the sight of Sam, splayed out on the cot, engorged dick heavy and firm in Dean's hand, and felt his heart close to bursting at the satisfaction of it all. No, Dean had never touched a man before, but in countless dreams, he had hungrily devoured Sam, choking him down, greedily sucking out his come, swallowing every drop. Yeah, he could do this. And he had promised to make Sam forget his name, so he better make it good. Keeping his eyes connected to Sam's widening brown pools filled with desire and hunger, Dean shifted his hand off Sam, and lowered his mouth to the head, gently kissing the tip, feeling the warmth and wetness of pre-ejaculate pearled there. Sam's mouth dropped open, and he exhaled shudderingly.

"Dean…" he whispered, emotion choking him. Dean wet his lips with his tongue, enjoying the salt taste of his brother, and pressed the head into his mouth, curling his tongue around the head, moistening Sam down as he went. Dean used his tongue to provide friction and pressure to the underside of Sam's head and shaft, mouth gliding warm and wet up and down Sam painfully slow, only able to take in about half his length comfortably. Dean was embarrassed. He had talked up what he was going to do to Sam, yet couldn't even manage to fit all of his brother inside of his mouth without gagging. Dean understood now why girls in his position had often incorporated a hand to stroke the bottom while sucking the top, and Dean adopted this approach now. There. He could tell by the hiss of Sam's indrawn breath that he was reaching the orgasm Dean had been trying to slow. Dean immediately retallied in his brain. If Sam had meant what he said about being in love with Dean, there'd be more chances for this type of contact. Dean didn't need to draw it out; to savor it. He sucked harder now, his hand gripping tighter, pumping with more urgency, as he suckled at his brother's head with an all consuming purpose.

"I'm gonna…" Sam's heart was leaping inside of his chest, filling his stomach with a burning urgency, flooding his veins with shocks and tingles. Sam had never felt such an emotional surge with a physical connection before, and he felt like his being was spinning, shattering into bits, preparing to fling little particles of Samuel Winchester into the universe, like an exploding star. He couldn't finish his urging, his voice choked off in a low, slow moan as he felt Dean's unoccupied hand sensually squeeze down on his thigh, giving a silent permission. And Sam was coming, uncontrolled, thrusting into his brother's mouth, his vision filtering down to a pinpoint snapshot he would never forget of his brother wrapped around his dick, and he was coming… coming completely uncontrolled. Liquid fire seeped out of Sam, searing away all hurt, shame, pain, and discomfort… everything was right in the universe again, Sam had come.. home.

Dean drank in the feeling of Sam becoming undone. It was everything he had dreamt of but so much more; this wasn't a mindless fuck, this was love, embodied. When Dean felt the first pulse of warm ejaculate shooting down his throat, he welcomed it, knowing it was the love between the two brothers, embodied. He swallowed, completely lax, allowing the warm fluid to shoot down the back of his throat, dizzied and gratified. Dean held his brother in his mouth for a moment, not wanting to overwork Sam when he was so sensitive, and then reluctantly drew away, gently letting Sam fall from his mouth. Everything was quiet, dark, and warm, and so perfectly, so unconscionably perfect.

I hate living without you

Dead wrong to every doubt you

But my demons lay in waiting

Tempting me away

Oh how I adore you

Oh how I thirst for you

Oh how I need you

Comatose

I'll never wake up without an overdose of you

I don't want to live

I don't want to breathe

Unless I feel you next to me


	7. If You Could Only See

**_Chapter Seven: If You Could Only See_ **

__Note: This is the first recently written chapter. It's shorter than most, but we've caught up to what's written. From now on, including this chapter, this is all new content. I'm sure the smut wills tart to feel more comfortable the more I write it! There's still drama and angst to come, as well as plot, we're getting close to all of that- I'm just kind of going where the story take me. Hope you enjoy. Let me know if you have any questions or thoughts- suggestions welcomed. Thanks guys!

 

Dean, still sunk on his knees next to the cot, gently tugged one of the thin blankets from the tangled pile on the cot back up over Sam’s lap, as if modesty still mattered at this point. Sam felt touched at the gesture, and clasped Dean’s hand in his own before he was able to draw it back from the blanket.

  
           “Can I?” Sam asked, a shy question in his eyes, caressing the back of Dean’s hand with his thumb. It still felt surreal; Sam felt that if he were to fully break contact with his brother, he’d wake up, and realize this had all been a beautiful, torturous dream. To Sam’s surprise Dean blushed and stammered.

            “Yeah, uh, no need. I kind of already…” Dean gestured with his free hand down toward his jeans and cleared his throat.

            “Seriously? How?” Sam wasn’t trying to embarrass his brother but was truly flabbergasted. Dean, the sex god, creaming his pants over giving a successful blowjob?

            “I don’t know dude, I guess it was just a lot to take in.” Dean replied. Sam snickered. “That’s not what I meant.” Sam chuckled. “I wasn’t talking about…” Sam laughed out loud. “Dude shut up!” pulling his hand away from Sam’s, Dean punched him lightly in the thigh, hefted himself up, and sat down on the edge of the cot. He stared down at the blanket covering Sam and smoothed away a nonexistent wrinkle. “Was that okay?” Sam’s face settled into a serious countenance, and he hooked a strand of hair behind his hair unconsciously.

            “Okay doesn’t even begin to describe it. I think I’m going to realize any moment now that I did die on that beach and woke up in heaven.”

            “I get it. I’m going through the same thing here, Sammy.” Dean searched Sam’s expressive hazel eyes with his own, trying to secret out any trace element of regret or shame. All he was able to read, though, was giddiness and earnest honesty. Dean cleared his throat, stood up, picked up and shook out his jacket that had been left forgotten on the floor of the shack. “How about we blow this popsicle stand and go somewhere to talk?” Sam nodded, and glanced around the shed.

            “Yeah Dean, that sounds good. But uh- where are my clothes?” A malicious twinkle lit up his brother’s eyes, and somehow Sam knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

            “You thought you were just getting off Scott-free after scaring me half to death and damn near killing yourself? Looks like you’re doing the walk of shame back to our room in a blanket, kiddo. Hope you like being mistaken for a bum.”

 

 

Back at the motel, a not completely uncomfortable silence fell over the boys. Their run back from the beach had been crackling full of ecstatic energy, Dean in the lead, shouting to every person they saw about the “homicidal bum trying to mug me, call the police!” while Sam could do nothing but shake his head, chasing after, alternating between hooting with uncontrollable laugher, and gasping for breath while his sides burned, and ribs ached. Both brothers were giddy with the relief of mutual discovery. Dean could swear his feet never made contact with the ground, he was flying the distance back, and nothing was going to bring him back down to earth.

When they reached the room they collapsed inside, gasping for breath and laughing, waiting for their hearts to still. The minutes ticked by as a calm finally began to descend, and the silence settled in, not heavy or thick, but light and warm. Finally Sam broke it, standing up from where he had collapsed into a chair, still wrapped in a scratchy gray lifeguard blanket.

“I’m going to take a shower. I feel like a salt lick and I probably do look homeless. Maybe we can grab a bite afterward?” Dean nodded, an unreadable look on his face, and began searching through his duffel for a clean outfit. Sam stood rooted to the same spot, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, not looking up, and not making a move toward the bathroom. “I, uh… well, it’s not like you’re much better off. And it’s a pretty big shower…” his voice trailed off, crimson staining his cheeks and neck at the implied invitation. Dean stood at this, the unreadable look in his face melting into a predatory smile. He dropped the clothes in his hand and slowly stalked, literally _stalked_ toward his brother, looking every bit a feline cornering prey. Sam’s blush spread, and his heart started beating faster. He had seen his brother like this before, but always in other contexts. During a hunt, when Dean was about to take down a monster. Or at the bar, when making his move on a willing bed partner. Dean had never directed the force of his predatory attention at Sam, not even during their sparring; that had always been a matter-of-fact approach, no intentional attempt to get the upper hand through intimidation. And Sam was intimidated. He had known his brother was sexy since the first time he understood what the word meant; since the first time he looked at him and felt something other than brotherly affection. But as Dean neared him, taut with the same energy of the hunt, Sam could feel his mouth go dry. Nobody had a right to be so ungodly beautiful, so brimming full of raunchy promises with one heavy lidded glance, so physically perfect. And it went beyond the physical perfection, with Sam, so far… but if all Sam knew in this moment was the physical portion, if he had never met the man in front of him before in his life, he would still be frozen to the ground, heart beating out of his chest, mouth dry, and heat pooling in his groin. It was no wonder Dean always got who he wanted when he wanted- in the bed, and even in the hunt. There was something in his aura and approach that screamed “you have no choice but to stand here and let me have my way with you” be it sex or death. When Dean finally reached him, nose almost touching his own, eyes gleaming, Sam felt a shudder wrack through his body. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt hot puffs of Dean’s breath ghost over his lips, and his tongue darted out to wet the skin, as if subconsciously trying to taste the moist air bathing them. He felt a sharp tug on the blanket and he allowed it to slither off his body onto the floor, opening his eyes again as it hit the carpet with a soft _whump_. Dean wasn’t looking at his face any longer, the predatory look melting off his face as his eyes roved down Sam’s naked body. It was replaced with a look of awe, and the fingers of his left hand shook as he reached out and trailed them down his brother’s tanned hip. Gooseflesh pebbled beneath his restrained touch, the slight tickle of barely-there finger tips dragging down the skin causing another shudder through Sam’s body.

“I thought we were going to talk? Get something to eat? If we get in that shower together I kind of doubt either of those things are gonna happen, Sammy…” Dean stated in a low rumble, lips pursing in amusement, obviously teasing. It wasn’t fair. Dean was curling him around his little finger with no effort. Sam wasn’t just another one of his nameless bar skanks; he couldn’t keep letting Dean getting away with the teasing while he responded like some simple girl who hadn’t grown up with Dean and won his fair share of fights.

“Sometimes talking is overrated,” Sam practically purred, determined to gain the upper hand. Enough of feeling like a passive bystander to the changing dynamic between the two of them. Grabbing a firm handful of the thick, prickly/soft hairs at the base of Dean’s skull, he pulled his head back- not gently- so Dean was looking up into his face, forced to acknowledge the height difference. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words.” And with that he crushed his lips against Dean’s, not gently, full of loaded promises and a wild need. He felt Dean’s lips curl against his own, as if determined to have the last word. “Shhhh.” Sam encouraged, licking at the seam of his brother’s lips. He physically felt it when Dean gave in, melting into him, mouth falling slack, tongue tangling with his own, a small groan spilling out of his mouth. “Shower now. Talk later.” And with that Sam tugged on Dean’s hand, drawing him into the bathroom.

 

 

_Sam is taking control now, in a way I needed but never knew I needed. He’s running his hands down my arms less than gently as he tugs me into the shower. One hand grips my shoulder possessively as the other turns on the shower. He holds his left hand under the spray of the shower head, testing out the heat, as his mouth returns to own mine. His kisses are like honeyed wine; my insides are turning to jelly while my dick is firming into a rock outcrop from the less than tender ministering of his mouth._

_“Sammy. Jesus. Sam.” I breathe, every expanse of my untouched skin prickling in anticipation. He grips my shoulder harder, an unspoken shut up. He backs me into the spray of the shower, a little hotter than I’m expecting, and my breath escapes me in a hiss that he swallows in his hungry mouth. How could I ever have thought he didn’t want this? His every touch, movement, and action bleeds true to the love he is leveling upon me, less than gently. The hand he no longer needs to feel the temperature of the water with glides down my back tantalizingly, curling over the curves of my spine and memorizing the cords of my muscles, until it settles onto the dimples of my back, resting gently on the curve of my ass. I delve my tongue deeper into the hot wetness of his mouth, lapping into the dark recesses, determined to taste every bit of pure sammyness that I can. I am not disappointed, he tastes just like he smells, clean and musky and manly. I’ve never been turned on by a man before, but somehow the overwhelming masculinity of him is sparking new desire deep inside my gut, something I’m not sure I can control. Or even want to._

_“Christ. Baby… how long have you wanted this?” If I could take those words back, I would. I don’t want him to feel shame or embarrassment, and I certainly don’t want to know if this is some random near-death experience out lashing._

 

 

Sam studied Dean gently for a moment, hands stilling, eyes soft and open. He didn’t seem upset by the question, but took a moment to mull over his answer, knowing it was important.

“This isn’t a want, Dean. This is a need. But I guess I’ve wanted it, consciously, since the summer I turned thirteen. I don’t think that’s when it started but that’s when I realized what my feelings meant. We just… I knew it was wrong, and we were always staying too busy for me to really have to confront it, you know?”

“yeah... I know.” That seemed to be all the answer Dean had in him, but he looked floored and gratified by Sam’s response, as if he had been steeling himself for something else and had instead been handed a gift. “So, you’ve got me where you want me. What now, Sammy?” In answer, Sam walked him backward and stepped under the falling water, enjoying the feeling of salt and grime melting from him. He stepped away, silently letting Dean get under the water, and hurriedly began sudsing himself up with shower gel.

“What’s the rush?” Dean inquired, watching.

            “I have other things I’d rather be spending my time doing,” Sam grinned, shoving him aside to rinse off his body. “I’ll let you wash my hair for me after.”

            “After what?” Instead of replying, Sam visibly steadied himself, and then reached to Dean’s waist, where his member was already at full mast with the view and anticipation of the last few minutes. Dean let out a choking gasp when Sam’s soapy hand closed around him, and he swelled further in response. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, seeking his brother’s mouth with his own. Sam tentatively stroked his hand up and down the shaft; encourages when Dean moaned low into him. He firmed his grip and increased the pace. Their kiss deepened; Sam felt Dean’s tongue unconsciously matching the pace his hand set, and his heart soared with the feeling of love and total rightness melding the two men together. He swept his thumb under the crown of Dean’s cock, rubbing over the slit, and Dean thrust into his hand, moaning louder this time. Sam was emboldened by the reaction, realizing how responsive Dean was to his touch. Letting out a groan of his own, Sam grabbed a handful of his brother’s ass with his free hand, reveling in the silken skin and firm muscles. He kneaded his hand while he continued to work Dean in the front, faster, harder, with each man now panting into the others mouth more than they were actively kissing.

 

            _“Jesus, Dean, I fucking love you. I love you so much.” I’ve broken away from him to express, my voice embarrassingly quavery. It’s the second time this day I’ve said it in /that/ romantic way. I’m not expected to hear it back, not really. Hopeful, but not saying it for the reply. I’m saying it because I need him to know, to understand, just how deep this goes for me. This is it. He is my all. My everything. I’m lost in the sensations of what we’re doing, lost in the heady ecstasy of it. My head is swimming even though I’m not the one receiving pleasure. Well, I am, but in the “give and you shall receive” sense of the word. Dean cries out a moment later._

_“Sammy, I…” and shoots into my hand, back quaking under my other hand, cum pulsing hard onto my hip, his forehead sinking down to rest on my shoulder. I kiss the top of his head, pivoting to let the shower head wash away the evidence of our incest from my skin, and embrace him with all my strength. Right here, right now, this is enough, I give him a minute to recuperate before I ask,_

_“Okay, speed racer, are you read to wash my hair?”_

 

 

_If you could only see the way he loves me_  
Then maybe you would understand  
Why I feel this way about our love  
And what I must do  
If you could only see how big his eyes can be when he says  
When he says he loves me  
  
  



	8. Matter of Time

**_Chapter Eight: Matter of Time_ **

_Note: I’m so sorry it’s such a short chapter, guys! I’ve been working 12 hour shifts 6-7 days a week so have had little to no down time to work on this. (Remember I’m a single parent so that factors in) I will continue to work on the story and smut will ensue, but I felt Sam needed to get a little high and mighty in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it- it seemed very stereotypical Sammy to me. Please feel free to comment! Comments are love, as are kudos, and bookmarks. I promise the next chapter will be full length._

            Sam and Dean had finally managed to get dressed and leave the hotel room in search of sustenance. In this small town there weren’t very many restaurants to choose from. It was to Sam’s chagrin and Dean’s delight that they found themselves at a familiarly decorated diner, both sitting in the same side of a booth. Dean was tapping the table with a loud staccato of fingertips, menu untouched in front of him. Sam cleared his throat as he studied the pitifully small selection of “healthy options” and debated between a lemon pepper tilapia with green beans and rice or a tuna salad stuffed tomato with side of cottage cheese.

            “What can I get you, boys?” The portly older waitress asked, her bright red lipstick matching her har, aside from an inch of greying roots. She had a fake iris pinned in her bun; her smile genuine and eyes warm. Sam felt his heart sink as Dean failed to immediately order as he had prior to his recent attempts at starvation, as if he wouldn’t get to eat if his order didn’t make it in first, like he had all their lives. Sam pushed aside his menu, and smiled brightly at Helen, her nametag read.

            “We’ll both have your double cheeseburger, add bacon, with a side of fries for him, and onion rings for me. Um, Helen, you know what? Let’s also get a couple of chocolate malts and two slices of pie. Apple, if you have it.” Sam gathered their menus and handed them to the woman, and felt, rather than saw, Dean frown, as the kindly waitress beamed.

            “I just love to see growing boys eating well. I’ll have this all out in a jiff.” Sam chuckled as she pattered off, sticking her pen in her bun along side the gaudy flower. They were hardly boys, and definitely not still growing, but Helen obviously was going to treat them as such, Dean stared at Sam, opening and closing his mouth several times before being able to speak.

            “Sammy… I don’t know if I’m going to be able to.” He trailed off, staring down at the nails of one hand, while he picked at them with the other. Sam’s relaxed smile faltered. After the last day, was Dean still tearing himself up inside about the wrongness of his unbrotherly needs for, well, his brother?

            “Dean…” He started, but his breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes grew uncomfortably moist, so he ducked his head.

            “I’ll try, Sam, I will.” Dean sighed, and rested a hand on his brother’s knee, drawing his attention back up, looking each other in the eye. “I know how you feel now, and God, I’m beyond happy, in a way I never knew I could be. But it doesn’t change the facts. That this is still wrong, and I’m not sure being happy is just going to magically cure everything I’ve been going through.” He wore a drawn expression, and his skin was paler than usual. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes tightly shut for a moment before responding, gathering what he wanted to say, and resisting and urge to reach out and shake the other stubborn man.

            “Look, you’re not just going through this alone anymore. You don’t have to hide, and you don’t have to worry about hurting me, or taking advantage of me, or any of the other things you were obsessing over with before. Not anymore. I get why you felt the way you felt before, and acted the way you did, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere, and we are in this together. You are going to get through this, believe it or not. Stop beating yourself up about how it’s wrong by everyone else in the world’s definition. Fuck the world. If it wasn’t for us there wouldn’t even be a world left to judge us anymore, at least not one with any humanity left in it. The world and everyone in it owes us some God damn leeway after everything we’ve done; everything we’ve been through. People do evil in the name of good all the time and nobody bats an eye. When people find out what hunters do, they think we’re evil, just because we have to kill. The world doesn’t know what true right and true wrong is, and I’ll be damned if I let their definition of it dictate how I live my life, especially when I do know without a shadow of a doubt what real good and evil is. What we are to each other doesn’t even begin to put a blip on the radar of actual detrimental wrongness, Dean, and if you weren’t letting Dad’s black and white indoctrination of good and bad rule you, I think you’d see that. Our feelings make us stronger for each other, strong enough to fight for the salvation of humanity, and without that, there’d still be a hell of a lot more evil free in the world doing real harm. Our need to keep coming back to each other has done harm, yes, but it’s saved more than anyone else has ever been able to accomplish. Just because it’s…. evolved into something sexual, still doesn’t mean that what we have is causing harm in the world. Dean, this world owes us. And if the price we exact for that debt, for everything we have done, is to be with each other and love each other as more than brothers, then for fuck’s sake, the world just has to deal with it and I will not feel wrong for it, and _neither should you._ ”

            Sam ended his speech, a bit breathless, red in the face, eyes flashing with roiling emotions. Dean’s hands was still on his knee, and his grip had become painful. When they locked eyes again, his older brother’s forest green orbs were clouded over in a mist of tears; some had already spilled down his cheeks, and Sam watched one plop onto Dean’s jeans, moistening the fabric, before he wiped a hasty, shaking hand over his face, obscuring the traces of tears, and he offered a tremulous smile. They sat in silence for long minutes, Sam collecting himself and reining his temper back in, Dean, lost in thought. They both startled when Helen bustled over with a heavy tray, unloading the small mountain of food onto the laminate pink table top in front of them. Heavenly smells wafted up from the plates and set their stomachs grumbling loudly. The waitress laughed out loud when the sound met her ears, and she reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder with red enameled fingers.

            “You boys eat up, you hear? I can’t have you wasting away in my establishment, and from the looks of it the two of you are absolutely famished.” Dean looked up at her for the first time and flashed his pearly whites in a crooked grin.

            “Thanks doll, everything looks divine. I’ll make sure little Sammy here cleans his plate. Like you said, he is a growing boy.” And with that he buried his face in his burger, ignoring the blush lighting up his brother’s neck, and groaned in an absolutely sinful manner. Helen tittered and patted Sam’s cheek, throwing a murmur of “such good, handsome boys” out behind her as she hurried off to take care of her other customers. Silence again ruled the table, but Sam’s heart swelled with hope and contentment as his brother quickly decimated his meal, and even snitched onion rings off his own plate when Sam pretended he wasn’t looking. Consuming a meal equal to an entire days’ worth of suggested caloric intake, soaking in unhealthy fats and unsafe levels of sodium was more than worth it to see the man finally at ease and eating without any signs of distress.

 

            Dean had just finished his malt and reached for his pie- strawberry rhubarb from the looks of it- when the breast pocket of his flannel overshirt began vibrating. He dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter, locked eyes with Sam, and fumbled out his phone, lifting it to his ear. He listened for a moment with a soft half-smile.

            “Well hiya, Bobby.” Sam scooted closer to Dean, setting his half-finished burger carefully back down on his plate, and attempted to listen in, ear pressed close to the phone Dean obliged with holding out between them.

            “Dean. That vamp I sent you after a week ago. You didn’t finish to job, did you, son? I think he’s back in Sioux Falls.” Dean felt his heart drop and his pulse quicken. He hadn’t even thought about the case in the past few days, distracted by the personal revelations they’d been going through. Including Sam almost dying. Again. Not that he could tell Bobby any of that.

            “I’m sorry Bobby, no. Some things cropped up that needed our attention.”

            “Damn it boy, you knew this was important. That blood sucker was after Jody, and she hasn’t answered my calls all day. Station said she didn’t report to work, either.”

 

_What kind of man would I be_  
If I accepted defeat  
What would my eulogy read  
Here lies a wasted soul

_What would my destiny be_  
What sort of life would I lead  
Consumed by apathy  
Spinning out of control

_It's how we live_  
How we live that defines us  
What we change  
And what we leave behind  
You know you can't  
You can't take it with you  
Your day will come  
It's just a matter of time


End file.
